


All The King's Horses

by wildcranberry



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ancient Egypt, Blindshipping, Gemshipping, M/M, Puzzleshipping, Tendershipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcranberry/pseuds/wildcranberry
Summary: The damning silence dragged on for too long while the weight of Yugi’s infraction hung in the air. He stayed where he had collapsed on his aching knees, not daring to look up. He would have groveled if he had not become so paralyzed by fear and the King’s gaze on his shoulders. “You are peculiarly small,” the Pharaoh finally spoke—a tremor through Yugi’s feeble heart. He had never imagined what the man might sound like, but somehow his voice alone was more than Ryou’s description could have ever conveyed. It was was rich but not rough. Like a strong current pulling under a smooth river.
Yugi continued to stare down into the stones of the path while tears pricked at the corner of his vision. The silence had returned, interrupted only by a river bird crooning in the distance and the trickle of running water in the garden while Yugi awaited his punishment. Eventually he made the terrible realization that the King was waiting for a response to his strange comment. “I suppose so, Your Highness,” Yugi finally whispered through his trembling lips.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think I'm more than a decade late to contributing to this fandom but I've wanted to write this story for years now. I hope you enjoy it.

A lazy breeze moved slowly through the lavish gardens where a collection of perfectly manicured Egyptian greens and blooms swayed in the soft dawn light. The gardens would have seemed deserted if not for the young man reclined on an ornate balcony, watching the first rays of the day glint over the palace’s flowers. His fingers floating listlessly in a shallow stone basin next to him. Around his bejeweled hand a small white lotus drifted across the surface of the water, propelled by the gentle movement in the warming air.

The man's sharp red eyes watched patiently as the sun began to crest the highest walls of the complex. In the distance a few noises slowly started to disturb the silence while doors were thrown open and floors swept. When the man turned his attention to the lotus the gentle clinking of his gold jewelry moving with him broke his statuesque appearance. The Pharaoh exhaled quietly, flicking the bloom with his long fingers and watching it drift across the basin.

Eventually the man rose from his seat, taking the lotus with him. The soft white fabric of his robes swirled around him as he approached the edge of the balcony, gaze moving out over the brightening landscape. He looked down at his hand, fingering the soft petals of the flower for a moment before unceremoniously dropping it into the garden below. The man turned on his heel, striding back through the archway and into the darkened room beyond. His shock of tri-colored hair the last thing to slip out of the light as he went.

 

* * *

 

Floors away the sound of a rough bristled brush scraping across the stone floor echoed weakly in the dimly lit dungeon space. The empty halls were cool and dark and after the night almost possessed a hint of moisture hanging in the air. Ryou pushed the brush back and forth over the patch of floor he was attending to—fighting the protesting of his tired muscles. There was a time in the early days of his enslavement that the dungeons had bothered him, the maze of long dark corridors under the palace with crude wrought iron cells reserved for the most unlucky of the Pharoah’s guests. In recent years Ryou had grown accustomed to the darkness, and now found the various chores almost as tolerable as some of his duties in other areas of the palace.

When he was satisfied with the section of floor he was attending Ryou stood.  He winced at the protesting of his aching knees and reached for the bucket he was using. He shifted the weight to his shoulder and turned in the direction of the cellblocks, hesitating slightly. He had always saved the prison areas for last. While most of the dungeon space was abandoned and long disused by the current Pharaoh, the cells never seemed to lose their air of intimidation. No matter how thoroughly the iron was cleaned or the chains organized, Ryou could never shake the unnerving sense that death lingered there.

Ryou wasn’t naive, he knew why a place like that had been built and had witnessed all of what it had been used for. Still, he hadn’t encountered a prisoner in the dungeons in years. There were other prisons, jails, and places for criminals in the capital. These dungeons were for the truly evil. Those who didn’t deserve the light of day or those who were too dangerous to keep around others. There were whisperings of demons, monsters and sorcerers left to rot underneath the palace.

The pale white-haired slave treaded lightly as he walked, the stone smooth under his bare feet. He had long since discarded his own torch as his eyes grew accustomed to the extremely dim corridors but there was more lighting down by the cells, casting long shadows over the unsavory adornments. He stopped in his usual spot and set his bucket down on a low bench. The majority of cells were left unsecured with their iron gates hanging open, save for the few where their keys or locks had been long lost to time.

Ryou turned towards the first cell and jumped when he saw the form, his brush clattering to the floor as it slipped from his grasp. There was something in the cell—a figure reclined against the back wall obscured by the shadows. A large figure, which Ryou’s tired eyes quickly made out to be a man. The person wasn’t moving, or hadn’t moved since Ryou had noticed him, apparently unphased by the intrusion or the dropped brush.

_Was he alive?_ Ryou could hardly tell, his heart still pounding in his chest from his start. It seemed unlikely that the man would be sleeping in such a position, but his face was obscured and unreadable in the darkness. Ryou could barely make out the stranger’s sandals, attached to a long pair of thick muscular legs. The man’s clothing was dark, possibly filthy, long robes of some kind. In the faint light Ryou could just barely make out a bright crop of light colored hair, sticking up in all directions, further concealing the face.

Ryou backed up slowly, an uneasy feeling churning in his gut. He had only taken a few steps when he bumped into the bench behind him with a clang. Ryou attempted to steady himself but cursed when the water bucket tipped and toppled onto the floor with a crash, sending dirty water spilling out everywhere. Ryou was frozen now, barely breathing as he watched the water flood into the cell.

The man wasn’t dead, and clearly couldn’t be sleeping anymore. Ryou watched as he moved his feet ever-so-slightly to avoid the grimy water making its way across the stone. The man turned his face slowly, and now out of the darkest shadows Ryou saw him fully for the first time. He was young but hardened looking, with dark colored eyes set into his defined face. He was clearly looking at Ryou now, and the young slave found the man’s expression of complete boredom unnerving. The prisoner cocked his head a little and gave Ryou a casual glance up and down without the slightest hint of concern.

Ryou had just opened his mouth slightly when he heard it, the distant echoing sound of a heavy metal latch scraping. It was time, he was late. In a panic Ryou snatched up the fallen bucket and turned without so much as a glance back at the cell, gathering his robes up from around his ankles and hurrying back into the darkness he had come from. At a certain point he broke into a full sprint, twisting and turning his way through the maze of corridors on instinct, but still the unsettling feeling still clung to him.

 

* * *

 

“Who writes like this?” Jou demanded, squinting at the scribbled characters on the parchment he was holding as if he was racking his brain to make sense of them.

“A person of standard education,” A small gray haired man replied without removing his eyes from his own parchment at the the table. “Someone who actually attended his script lessons.” A deep chuckle resounded from the occupied lounge on the other side of the room.

“Oy! What’s so funny to you?” The blonde demanded, turning in his seat to wag his finger at the reclined man with the array of colored hair. They were sitting in one of the cozier rooms in the military wing of the palace, reading over the morning's news as the warm wind stirred up the curtains and signaled the beginning of the true heat of the day.

The King smirked from his position, examining his half eaten fruit with interest. “I do recall quite a few lessons you were so mysteriously absent from, now that Sugoroku mentions it.”

“Oh the excuses!” Sugoroku chuckled, waving his free hand around. “Like you’ve never heard, every week there was some incredible new disaster.”

Jou huffed, discarding his various parchments on the table. “Some of them were valid,” he declared while he crossed his broad arms in a defiant manner.

“As are some of these,” Sugoroku noted, pushing Jou’s papers back towards him. “Try not to endanger our kingdom simply because you are too lazy to read.”

“I can read!” Jou snapped, snatching the papers back up. “Seto’s writing is just so insufferable. Even for a priest.”

“I’m beginning to think he does it just to goad you,” The King commented. He was still staring at a distant point out of the balcony doors.

“Ass,” Jou muttered, half heartedly returning to his reading.

 

* * *

 

“Ryou! Come here!” Ahmet, the master of slaves barked. Ryou stepped forwards hesitantly from the back of the kitchens, wary of Ahmet’s unpredictable temper. “There you are boy,” Ahmet said, gesturing hurriedly to the white haired slave.

“Sir?” Ryou asked.

Ahmet stepped out of the doorway and into the room so Ryou noticed the person standing behind him for the first time. The newcomer at first appeared to be a small boy, although when he made eye contact with Ryou he didn’t appear as young as the slave had expected. Still, size was not the most remarkable thing about the small man’s appearance. He wasn’t nearly the same height and lacked much of the grandeur, but the multi-colored hair unmistakably resembled another of the palace’s famous residents. Ryou stared openly, and would have thought the newcomer must have been a member of the royal family if he hadn’t noticed the filthy gown the boy was clothed in.

“Ryou, this is Yugi,” Ahmet coughed roughly as he rather unceremoniously pulled the boy into the room by the front of his shirt. Yugi, who had been eyeing the kitchen space nervously snapped his gaze back to Ryou and the white haired slave could see that he was frightened. “Go on,” Ahmet muttered, prodding Yugi again closer towards Ryou.

“Hello,” Ryou said quietly, doing his best to give the shorter boy a friendly smile.

“Hi,” Yugi responded, his voice cracking.

Ahmet huffed. “Ryou, you’re going to need to get Yugi acquainted with his new duties around here. He is as you can see, a new acquisition.” Ahmet gestured at the small boy’s appearance. “Some kind of joke I guess.” Ryou watched Yugi’s face fall and the frightened look reappear on his face at the slave master’s words as the man turned and swept from the room.

“My name is Ryou,” Ryou held out his hand to the boy, who gave it a long look before taking it.

“Yugi,” The smaller boy offered shyly. The boy took his hand back and glanced back over his shoulder nervously. “Why does he say that?” He asked quietly.

Ryou blinked, before gesturing for Yugi to follow him as he walked towards his servant’s chambers. “Where are you from?” He asked after pondering the question for a moment.

“My master lived in the lower kingdom,” Yugi replied, sticking close to Ryou as they moved down the corridor. Ryou frowned as he racked his brain but his own knowledge of the land outside the palace was so limited that he could hardly guess where that might be. He led Yugi into the small room he slept in with some of the other slaves, gesturing for him to sit upon one of the well worn mats.

“Do you know where you are?” Ryou asked, lighting a the small lamp perched atop the only shabby piece of furniture in the room.

“ _The palace,_ ” Yugi whispered from where he had settled atop one of the mats, legs crossed. “I can scarce believe it. It’s enormous!” Yugi whispered in awe. “More servants than I think I’ve ever seen.”

Ryou smiled, making a half hearted attempt to brush some of the dust off his clothing. “Yes, there’s plenty to keep us occupied.” Ryou had lived within the palace his whole life, and wasn’t sure how to feel about the new boy’s astonishment.

It turned out that Ryou didn’t have anything to worry about. Yugi proved to be a hard worker, who kept up with the hustle and bustle of the downstairs servants without too much trouble. The smaller boy spent most of his time assisting the kitchen staff, but always attached himself to Ryou whenever they were near. Ryou had never been particularly social, and the boy’s endless charm and attempts at friendship were unusual but not entirely unwelcome.

“How have you possibly gotten so good at this?” Ryou asked as they worked kneading bread late into the night. Yugi’s loaves were even and perfect, and he was churning them out twice as fast as Ryou even though the white haired slave had taught him to do it himself only weeks before.

“What, the bread?” Yugi asked, smiling as he reached for some more flour. “It’s nice, calming really.”

“I guess I’m not very good at cooking,” Ryou chuckled, poking at his own much less even loaves.

“I’d never really cooked anything before coming here,” Yugi commented. “I kind of like it,” he added. “Soothing, and better than being out in the sun all day.” Ryou had noticed that Yugi was becoming paler than he had been when he had first arrived. The Egyptian sun was legendary, but most of the slaves who worked in the downstairs sections of the palace rarely ventured out into it.

“I really don’t do well in the sun,” Ryou gestured at his pale complexion while starting to knead a new batch. “Lucky to work down here I guess.”

“Honestly Ryou, you could use a little sun,” Yugi smiled. “Some of the guards think you might be some kind of ghost.”

“They do not!” Ryou snorted, squishing one of his uneven loaves. Yugi had stopped working on his own loaves and was pulling some of Ryou’s towards him, fixing them here and there.

“You spend too much time in those dungeons,” Yugi frowned.

“They’re not so bad when you get used to them,” Ryou lied.

“What’s down there? Nobody seems to know.” Yugi asked curiously, rolling handfuls of dough without even looking at them.

“Not a whole lot,” Ryou shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to look the smaller boy in the face. “There’s a whole network under the palace built a long time ago. Mostly unused corridors now.” Ryou paused to collect his thoughts. “They twist all over the place in almost no order, very easy to get lost in the dark if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Like a maze,” the smaller boy shuddered. “Do they really keep people down there?” Yugi asked, pausing in his work and wiping his hands on his apron.

“Not really,” Ryou said. “The royal prison is somewhere else. Supposedly the dungeons are only for really unlucky convicts.”

Yugi looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot. “Have you ever seen anyone down there?” He asked quietly.

Ryou nodded, hands faltering on the work table. “Only a few.” For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to tell Yugi about the strange man that was down there now.

Yugi watched him with large concerned eyes. “I’m sorry you have to work down there,” he said sincerely, starting in on his work again.

“It’s alright, like you said, nice to stay out of the sun,” Ryou lied again, giving the younger boy a small smile. Yugi seemed to be willing to let it go.

“So,” Yugi changed the subject. “What else should I know about the palace?”

“What do you want to know about it?” Ryou asked curiously, finally satisfied with a few of his loaves.

“What is the Pharaoh like?” Yugi asked, adding a little flourish to his rolling routine.

The white haired boy paused in thought. “I don’t really know how to answer that,” Ryou admitted honestly. “I’ve only ever been near him a few times.”

Yugi smiled. “I always thought it was silly, but in my village they used to say that he is is the most beautiful warrior son of the Gods sent to protect us.”

“ _The War Eagle of the North,_ ” Ryou murmured. “That’s what they call him.”

“What a title,” Yugi rolled his eyes a little. “Have you ever seen him?” He asked.

“A handful of times,” Ryou answered. Yugi abandoned his work again, leaning against the counter to watch Ryou more intently. “You know you can’t look directly at him right?” Ryou warned.

Yugi nodded. “They told me that. Can he really have slaves killed for making eye contact with him?”

Ryou shrugged. “Supposedly. I’ve never heard of it happening though.”

“That’s terrifying,” Yugi whispered. “You’ve seen him?”

Ryou nodded. “Only from afar.”

“What does he look like?” Yugi asked quietly. Ryou gave him a slightly puzzled look. Did the boy really not know? Ryou would have thought someone would have told him.

“He’s… _different_.” Ryou paused. “There’s something about him... _ethereal_ , almost inhuman.” Yugi’s eyebrows shot up. “He is very beautiful too,” Ryou added with a slight awkwardness. 

“Well, we know he likes bread,” Yugi added after a moment of silence.

Ryou let out a rare chuckle. “Hopefully they serve him yours and not mine.”

“If I were pharaoh I’d have you beheaded for that loaf alone,” Yugi joked, gesturing at the particularly small and warped piece Ryou was struggling with. Ryou picked it up and chucked it at him playfully, while Yugi giggled and ducked.

 

* * *

 

“And how are you this evening?” Sugoroku asked from the doorway to the king’s private balcony.

“I am alright,” The Pharaoh replied, turning to smile at his closest advisor. “How are you?”

“Full of an excellent dinner,” The old man grinned as he rubbed his protruding belly. The King laughed, his heavy golden jewelry swaying.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself then,” The King noted.

“Not all of us are still in our physical prime, my boy,” Sugoroku winked, coming forward to rest against the edge of the balcony with the younger man. “I hope you will get to enjoy feasts even half as luxurious when you are my age.”

“Assuming of course that I haven’t collapsed our kingdom by then,” The Pharaoh replied as he watched a few of the plants sway in the gardens below.

“Nonsense,” Sugoroku reached out, placing his hand on the King’s shoulder. “You are growing into an exemplary ruler, my child. You have much to be proud of,” the old man beamed.

The taller man reached up to lay his own hand over the one his advisor had placed there. “Thank you,” He murmured sincerely. “I don’t know where I would be without you.”

Sugoroku chuckled. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” the old man gestured at the distant temple just visible over the palace walls. “Only our truly great pharaohs have doubted themselves. It takes a noble soul to recognize the weight of the job.”

“The position really should have been yours,” the King murmured, still surveying the lengthening shadows below.

“Quite incorrect,” the advisor grinned. “You were born for this.”

 

* * *

 

A young woman swept into the kitchens, her luxurious robes swirling through the air sending servants scattering away from her. She was beautiful, with long black hair and more gold adornments than Ryou thought he had ever seen. She surveyed the room with a dark look.

“Who here knows the dungeons?” She asked in a powerful voice which left no doubt that she was used to being listened to. Ryou stepped forward hesitantly, nodding his head but careful not to stare at her too directly.

“I do ma’am,” Ryou spoke respectfully, eyes focused on the woman’s feet.

She snapped her fingers. “ _Lead the way,_ ” she commanded. Ryou complied, turning and walking through the small crowd who parted quickly for the two of them. Yugi gave Ryou a worried look from the sidelines but Ryou shook his head ever so slightly in the boy’s direction to discourage him from joining.

Ryou led the way quickly and carefully to the entrance that he always used. Lifting the heavy metal latch and holding the iron door open for the strange woman. When she had stepped past him, Ryou closed the door behind them. Only then did Ryou notice his mistake.

“No torch?” The woman asked pointedly.

“I’m sorry, I’m usually not allowed one,” Ryou stuttered in the darkness. “Shall I fetch one?”

“It’s fine,” the woman replied curtly. “You know where the prisoner is?” Ryou assumed she meant the blonde man he had seen, he hadn’t come across another person down there in years.

“Yes,” Ryou replied into the darkness.

“Lead the way then,” she repeated.

Ryou walked slowly and deliberately, voicing each turn before they reached it. To her credit the woman didn’t seem to be disturbed by the endless darkness, and if anything seemed to be in a greater hurry. Still, she trailed behind Ryou for the long walk and said nothing. After a while the darkness lifted slightly as they neared the cells Ryou had seen the man in. A few torches along the wall began to illuminate the way. When they rounded the final corner, Ryou stopped.

The man was still there, still eerily lounging in the same way. Ryou hung back by the bench while the woman swept past him, stopping in front of the bars with her arms crossed. The man in the cell stared back at her with his bored expression. After a few long moments the woman spoke first. “Marik,” she spat.

“Nice to see you as well, Isis,” The man drawled. He had a deep voice, dry and dull.

“You have some nerve, thief,” Isis snarled at him. The ferocity of her anger startling Ryou. 

“My deepest apologies…” The man replied without the slightest hint of remorse or sincerity, his gaze examining the dank cell around him.

“Where is he?” She asked.

“I can’t be sure now, can I?” The man replied. “But I can assure you he’s safe.”

The young woman, who Ryou was beginning to suspect might be the High Priestess Isis herself, looked back over her shoulder towards Ryou. She seemed to be sizing him up with her sharp gaze before turning back to the strange man. “With the likes of you?” She asked. The man sat up a little straighter, crossing his legs in front of him.

“Have I ever hurt him?” The man asked, and this time he seemed to be more intent with his words.

“It’s the nature of your business,” Isis countered. An ominous smirk was forming on the imprisoned man’s face, as the conversation enlivened his previously stoic persona.

“Does your Pharaoh know about it then?” The man asked, almost grinning now. “Does the almighty Pharaoh know your precious little brother is running around with filth like me and the other King?”

“Egypt only has one King!” Isis snapped, seething.

The man reclined back against the wall of his cell. “I’ll take that as a no then,” he drawled.

“Mark my words,” The priestess hissed. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life rotting in this cell if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” The man replied nonchalantly, closing his eyes and dismissing her presence. Without another word Isis turned and strode back up the corridor, leaving Ryou to hurry after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little while but we're back at it! (Warning: this chapter has been poorly proofread for now. Will comb through it better later).

Ryou ducked into his sleeping quarters, not entirely surprised to see Yugi waiting for him. The boy was sitting with his legs crossed, holding a small blunt knife and working carefully on a object Ryou couldn’t make out. Next to him several small pieces of shaped wood lay discarded on the mat.

“I promise you can’t tunnel out,” Ryou commented dryly from the doorway. Yugi looked up at him at let out a small snort of amusement. His frame seemed somehow smaller and younger, more childlike, in the dark room. “What are you doing?” Ryou asked curiously. Yugi held out the piece he had been working on and Ryou took it from him, fingering the curved wood gently.

“It’s a pawn,” Yugi told him. “A little rough, but it should work just fine.” 

“A pawn?” Ryou asked, turning the tiny object over in his palm. 

“Have you never played senet?” Yugi asked him, holding his small hand out to take the crude piece of wood back.

Ryou shook his head. “Never learned. Although, some of the royals are quite competitive over it,” he added. He remembered the great matches that tended to play out on the lawns in the off seasons. 

“I can teach you if you want!” Yugi offered with a smile. “We used to play sometimes at my old master’s house. Nice to take your mind off things.” Ryou felt a pang deep inside him at Yugi’s unrestrained enthusiasm for the simple activity.

Ryou moved to sit down on his own mat. “You like games then?”

“Always,” the smaller boy admitted, lining up his collection of makeshift game pieces in a neat row. “I’ve never had to make my own set before, but this isn’t so bad. Hopefully Ahmet won’t mind.”

“I doubt he will.” Ryou said while he reached down to rub one of his own bare feet. The very dim light in the small room barely illuminated the two of them. “There has been a rumor for years that he wound up working here because he couldn’t cover his gambling debts.” Ryou didn't there was much truth to the story, but it was still good gossip. 

Yugi hummed, seemingly deep in thought. “Maybe he would enjoy a good game of senet then.”

“It’s not as if you have anything to bet,” Ryou pointed out. Yugi seemed almost to have not heard him while he stared at the piece he was holding.

“So...” Yugi began as he returned to his novice carving. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Ryou asked, not sure if he was really wanted to discuss the subject he knew Yugi was alluding too. He still felt shaken by the experience, and had been doing his best not to think about it while his heart continued to pound more quickly than usual. 

“ _Isis,_ ” Yugi whispered, fixing his wide purple eyes on Ryou.

“You know who Isis is?” Ryou asked, genuinely surprised. Yugi was a young slave from a distant city, it seemed far fetched that he would have kept up with palace politics. Ryou himself only knew a handful of things about her.

“One of the older slaves told us who she was,” Yugi explained. “Was that woman really one of the high priests?” He asked, seemingly in disbelief.

“I guess so,” Ryou answered, tracing a random pattern into the stone floor with his finger. “I’d never seen her before.” It was true, or at least so Ryou thought. He had seen many of the royals and their companions over the years, but never been so close. Realistically he knew that Isis herself must have many personal servants, but Ryou had never been involved in that kind of work.

“What was she like?” Yugi asked curiously. “We only had a small temple in my village and no priests.”

Ryou had never so much as set foot in a temple so he shrugged. “She seemed irritated. In a big hurry.”

“I was scared for you,” Yugi admitted sheepishly. “She was downright frightening. I wanted to wait for you until she brought you back but Ahmet wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Surely she’s not like that all the time,” Ryou mused. He was touched by Yugi’s unabashed worry for him. From what he understood priests and priestesses we’re supposed to be in step with the Gods, unique souls of deep understanding.

“She was wearing more gold than I’ve ever seen in my life,” Yugi declared. Ryou nodded in agreement. “And her robes! I’ve never seen cloth so fine.” 

Ryou chuckled. “Just be pleased you don’t have to wash and polish her wares. Imagine how filthy she got dragging all that grandeur around the dungeons.”

Yugi sighed dramatically. “I’ll just have to resign myself to washing your gowns.”

“Hey!” Ryou countered playfully, brushing dust off his clothing. “I’m very clean.”

“What did she want?” Yugi prodded curiously, refusing to let the subject slide.

Ryou shrugged. “Asked me to take her into the dungeons.”

“And?” Yugi pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Surely she didn’t just want to stand around in the dark.”

Ryou shook his head slightly. He supposed there was no avoiding the conversation now. “No, when we got through the door she asked me if I could lead her to the prisoner.” 

“The prisoner?” Yugi asked, wide eyed. “I thought you said they didn’t keep people down there!” 

“They don’t!” Ryou countered. “Well, not very often. He’s the first person I’ve seen down there in years.”

“Who is it?” Yugi asked, looking frightened.

“I don’t know,” Ryou answered honestly. “I only noticed him a couple weeks ago but he doesn’t move or talk any. I thought he might be dead.”

Yugi gave a little shudder. “That’s horrible. I can’t imagine being trapped down there.”

“It has to be awful,” Ryou agreed. “But I suppose he just sat and stared. Until tonight.”

“What happened?” Yugi prodded him.

Ryou drew his knees up to his chest, going over the scene in his mind. “She asked me to take her down there so I did. When we got there she was angry, _very angry_ , at the man.”

“What did she say?” Yugi asked.

“All kind of things,” Ryou replied, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember exactly what had been said in those dark corridors. “She knew his name, she called him Marik." 

“ _Marik…_ ” Yugi repeated the name. “Who in the God’s name is that?”

“No idea…” Ryou whispered. “He’s younger, can’t be too much older than you or I.” Ryou paused for a moment collecting his thoughts. “He had someone… Or he knew where someone was that she wanted to know.” 

“Did she say who?” Yugi asked.

“No,” Ryou shook his head. “She was so angry, but he wasn’t even bothered by it. He laughed at her, mocked her even.” Ryou remembered the man’s deep and powerful voice as he spoke. He didn’t seem meek, and he certainly didn’t seem afraid. Evidently not the lifeless shell Ryou had mistaken him for when he had first seen him.

Yugi shuddered. “He must be some kind of evil. She is one of the most intimidating women I’ve ever seen.”

Ryou’s mind was running now. “He did say one odd thing though…” Ryou trailed off. “He said something about another king. They argued about that.”

Yugi’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Another king? In Egypt?”

Ryou nodded. “But we only have one king. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I’ve only ever heard of one other _‘King’_ besides the Pharaoh,” Yugi frowned thoughtfully. 

“Who?” Ryou asked, surprised. The Pharaoh had been the rightful ruler of Egypt for as long as Ryou could remember, and his father before him.

“I’m sure you know,” Yugi said. “He’s not a real king, they just call him one.” Ryou just stared at him blankly, no one coming to mind. “Well you know…” Yugi continued. “ _The Thief King._ ”

Ryou laughed. “Come off it!” He snorted. “He’s not even real. Just a story they tell to young slaves to scare them straight.”

“No he is real!” Yugi insisted. “People used to talk about him all the time back in my old village. Once a man who delivered our grain told us he’d seen the man himself.”

Ryou stared in disbelief. “Your grain merchant met a man born of fire, a demon escaped from the underworld to test our noble Pharoah?”

“What?” Yugi asked, bewildered. “I’ve never heard that.”

“That’s what they say down here,” Ryou mused. “We always thought it was just a story.”

“In my village they said he was a real man,” Yugi told him. “Said his family was murdered by the Pharaoh years ago.”

“We never heard that story,” Ryou whispered. Although Ryou was sure there were many stories they were never told in the palace dungeons. “Is it true?”

“Who knows,” Yugi shrugged, laying down on his back and staring at the ceiling. “Maybe there’s just a band of thieves claiming to be him. There are lots of those.” 

“Do you think that’s what the prisoner and Isis were talking about?” Ryou asked, watching as Yugi closed his eyes. 

“I doubt we’ll ever know the answer to that,” Yugi replied. “But if you ever see Isis again you should definitely ask,” he deadpanned.

Ryou let out a small huff of laughter and shook his head. It was nice, not to be so alone anymore. Eventually he laid down himself, listening to the rise and fall of the smaller boy’s chest until his mind drifted off. He wouldn't sleep much, both conversations still circling through his thoughts. Yugi was lucky—that his own country beyond the palace walls was not such a mystery to him. 

 

* * *

“Mutt!” A deep voice rang out through the stables.

A tall armoured blonde man turned on the spot, staring down the newcomer while horses neighed in the distance. He rested his hand on a heavy sword strapped to his hip. “You realize I am heavily armed, don’t you?” He called out.

A familiar brunette was strolling past the stalls. The dusk light was casting an extremely long shadow behind his already impressive height. “How many shots did you miss on the range last week?” The man smirked. “I’ll be fine.”

The blonde man narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chestplate. “You wouldn’t last a minute in the rough with the boys, princess,” he sniggered.

“Don’t tempt me,” The taller man drawled. He eyed the blonde with distaste.

“Alright Seto, what do you want? You’re wasting enough of my time,” the blonde responded, drawing himself up to his full height. Still, he had to look up to address the other man.

The brunette reached inside the breast of his robe and drew out an envelope marked with a dark wax seal. He held it out to the shorter man who took it with a slight frown. “When?” The shorter man asked, the banter evaporating.

“Just now,” Seto replied. 

“Is it bad?” The blonde asked, flipping the papers over to read the lines on the front side.

“It’s what we expected, I think.” The taller man murmured. His gaze was focused intently over the blonde’s head, watching the stable entrance carefully to make sure they weren’t overheard.

The smaller man tucked the parcel into his own robes. “I’ll deliver it myself,” He said.

“See that you do,” Seto nodded sternly, before turning on his heel and striding back up the way that he had come. The blonde watched the back of the other man’s blue robes disappear before hurrying away himself.

 

* * *

 

“Ryou!” Ahmet called out, gesturing impatiently for the boy to come towards him. Ryou had just been busy making himself scarce in the back of the kitchen moments before when Ahmet had been having a rather loud and heated argument with a few of the dungeon guards.

“Yes, sir?” Ryou asked warily, wiping his dirty hands on the apron he was wearing around his waist as he approached. Ahmet shoved a wooden tray across the tabletop towards Ryou, causing the contents to clatter and spill. Ryou caught the tray and carefully righted the small dishes of meat and grains.

“I need you to take this to the prisoner,” Ahmet informed him, clearly exasperated.

Ryou poked at the overcooked piece of what was likely lamb. “I thought the guards were supposed to feed him?” He asked curiously, eyeing the doorway several of the armed men had just disappeared through.

Ahmet sighed. “Apparently they’ve decided it’s beneath them.” His tone was annoyed. “Something about a sorcerer. Superstitious load of bats,” he muttered.

Ryou pulled the tray towards himself. “Sorcerer?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare go soft on me, boy,” Ahmet chucked. Amusement finally cracking on his aged face. “I need a few good men around here.” Ryou forced a smile. He appreciated that despite all of his attitude, Ahmet really didn’t seem to like soldiers very much. The guards especially seemed to grind on his short temper.

Ryou picked up the tray, careful to balance the small cup of wine as he walked towards the staircase to the dungeon. It had been particularly hot over the last few days and despite the suffocating darkness Ryou felt a little relieved as he descended into the winding chambers. He shivered a little bit, but he tried to believe that it was because of the cold air and not to do with the evil feeling that seemed to lurk underground.

This time Ryou wasn’t surprised to see the blonde man laying in his cell. He hadn’t seemed to have moved much in the few days since Ryou had seen him last, still reclined in the back of his cell as if he was hardly bothered by the imprisonment. Ryou approached the iron bars slowly, carefully placing the tray down on the floor. If the prisoner was watching him from his place in the shadows, Ryou couldn’t tell.

Ryou let a long pregnant pause pass before he worked up the nerve to speak. “Uh, I brought you some food,” he said, wincing as the space amplified the nerve in his voice. “If you can really call it food…” he added with a slight frown. When the man neither replied nor seemed to move, Ryou turned to leave. He had only made it a few short steps before the man spoke in his rough voice.

“Where are you from?” The voice asked. Ryou turned back to the cell, slightly alarmed. The man, the one Isis had called Marik, was slowly standing to his feet. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, taking a couple steps forward until he could lean against the bars holding him in. When he crossed his arms over his chest Ryou was surprised to see several heavy gold bands along his arms. Ryou could see now too that his garments weren’t filthy as much as they were a deep purple fabric. The man was taller than Ryou, and his shocking blonde hair stuck up in every direction giving him an almost wild appearance. Ryou felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck as the man fixed an almost patronizing stare on him. The tray sat ignored at his feet.

“Uh…” Ryou stumbled awkwardly. “I live upstairs.”

A single condescending eyebrow arched on Marik’s tan face. “You mistake me,” he spoke slowly. “What kingdom are you from?”

Ryou blinked at him. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I’ve been here since before I can remember.” The prisoner was starting intently at him with his dark colored eyes. “Why do you ask?” Ryou added, starting to feel a little braver.

Marik gave a small non-committal shrug. “You remind me of someone I know.”

“Who?” Ryou asked curiously.

“A friend of mine,” the man smiled slyly, clearly not interested in revealing any more.

“The one Isis was talking about?” Ryou asked, eyeing the man carefully.

Marik’s face cracked into an eerie grin. “That unfortunate woman assumes much more than she knows.”

Ryou swallowed. Distinctly aware that he was speaking to someone deemed dangerous enough to be imprisoned in the Pharoah’s dungeons. Someone the guards feared was a sorcerer. Someone wrapped in far too much gold and fine fabric to be a an ordinary criminal. Surely nothing good could come from talking to this man. “I wouldn’t know.” He said, backing away from the blonde. Marik watched him step back with a curious expression. His gaze was intense and sharp for someone who had been confined to the dungeons for an extended amount of time. His strange sense of amusement at his situation made Ryou’s stomach churn.

The corner of Marik’s mouth turned up a little bit. “You better run along then,” he nodded towards the exit. “Won’t do you any good to stay here.” Ryou took his advice, moving quickly back into the darkness.

Even when he arrived back in the kitchens and got back to his usual work, the hair was still standing up on the back of his neck. He couldn’t seem to distract himself from the conversation that has just occurred, and for far too long he could hear an echo of the prisoner’s voice in his head.

 

* * *

 

“You’ll be fine,” Ryou assured Yugi, helping him tie the formal white sash on his nice shenti.

“I hope so,” Yugi replied, offering a nervous smile.

“Do you remember where you’re going?” Ryou asked, handing Yugi a small wooden comb so he could make an attempt to tame his wild hair.

“All the way down the main hall, the chambers off to the left.” Yugi listed off in a well practiced manner, now ripping into his multicolored locks with the with the comb. “Then I take two rights and a left again. Straight through the meeting room and then a right at the end. Third door on the left.”

“You’ve got it,” Ryou smiled. “Just try not to get distracted by too much.” 

“Do you think I will?” Yugi asked nervously.

“I thought you said it was the most beautiful building in all of Egypt?” Ryou asked playfully.

“That’s only what I’ve been told!” Yugi replied sheepishly, blushing a little.

Ryou grinned. “It is very grand, I think all of us get a little dazed by it at first.” He gently swatted Yugi’s nervous hands away from the mess he was making of his hair. “You’ll be just fine,” Ryou assured him.

Yugi sighed, then smiled. “Okay I’m ready,” he said with a small puff of confidence.

“Are you sure?” The white haired boy asked, raising an eyebrow. He managed a straight face for a couple seconds before he cracked into a smile.

Yugi smacked him on the arm. “Stop it!” He giggled. “Where’s that stupid thing?” He asked. Ryou held the leather wrapped packet of papers out to Yugi, who took them gently and carefully. “They know I’m coming right?” Yugi asked.  

Ryou nodded. “Menhit used to deliver it every day, they’ll be expecting it.”

“What is it?” Yugi asked curiously, turning the bound collection over in his hands.

Ryou shrugged. “Reports of some kind. They come from Ahmet, and I’m certainly not going to ask him about them.” 

“Fair enough,” Yugi murmured. “Okay!” He said with more enthusiasm, clasping the parcel to his chest. “I’ll be going then.” He took a few steps towards the door and cast one last glance over his shoulder at Ryou before he stepped into the stairwell. For the first couple minutes Yugi didn’t see anyone else. He had never ventured into the main part of the palace and had no idea what to expect.

He started to walk along empty halls, the sound of his sandals on the stone floors the only thing accompanying him for a good while. But Yugi could tell when he began to wander closer to the main part of the palace. The rooms and fixtures began to become finer, more well kept. There were new noises, smells, and the bustle of busy working servants. Windows began to be decked in long white linen curtains, and finely clothed servants glanced at him curiously as he passed. Yugi felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he became hyperaware of his own meager garments.

Yugi tried his best to keep his eyes downcast, remembering Ryou’s warnings about the punishments for making eye contact with members of the royal family. He walked quickly, and as he did his route seemed to be taking him away from the busier parts of the palace. He hurried through a doorway, and slowed to a halt when he entered the most stunning hall we had seen so far.

It was a mostly empty stone corridor. It would have been plain and ordinary if not for the view through the many arched open windows that took Yugi’s breath away as he registered it. The long hallway was almost completely open on one side, revealing a sprawling green garden that seemed to stretch out further than Yugi could see. Large green palms swayed slightly, casting gentle moving shadows over an immense expanse of multicolored blooms and plants.

Yugi had grown up with his first master in a remote village in the lower kingdom. It had been a harsh and dry place, and water was always reserved for the small farms. He’d certainly didn’t think he’d seen so much lush growth in his life. He stepped closer to one of the open windows, his delivery forgotten in his awe. Yugi watched the deserted gardens for a few moments, before beginning to move down the hall towards the middle.

There, in the center of the hall, an enormous arched doorway opened out onto the gardens. The archway revealed a gravel path, made up of small blue stones Yugi couldn’t identify. He paused, looking nervously over his shoulder to make sure that the place was truly empty. When he was sure that it was, he took a careful step out into the garden. The sun struck his skin, and the warmth was instant. Nothing was quite like the Egyptian sun.

Yugi took a few more hesitant steps along the path, stunned by the well manicured lawn that sprawled out in front of him. The section of the lawn ended a short distance from him, where reeds partially obscured what what lay beyond. Yugi’s ears heard it before his eye’s saw it.  _Water_. Yugi began to take steps more quickly, just able to make out a fountain resting in the middle of a deep pond beyond the reeds. He cursed his short height as he was forced to creep closer and closer to get a good look.

He stopped at the water’s edge. Staring out over the pond, dotted with beautiful white and pink lotus blooms surrounded by their green pads, was a surreal experience. It tugged on an old memory in the back of his mind, a memory of seeing the great Nile when he was very young. Yugi stood still for several minutes, trying his best to drink in all that lay before him in the garden. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the welcome scent. It was then that Yugi heard someone cough quietly behind him.

Yugi almost jumped out of his skin. He whipped around so quickly that he lost his balance, stumbling. The person who had snuck up on him was a relatively tall and tanned man, slender but still built well. The stranger was staring at him with striking red eyes, perfectly lined in a dark kohl. Yugi blinked at the beautiful face, his brain struggling to comprehend the surprisingly familiar colored hair before his eyes stalled on the golden object resting on the man’s forehead.

A terrifying jolt of cold fear shot through Yugi’s stomach as he recognized the crown of Egypt. Yugi dropped to his knees so fast that he felt the sting of his skin splitting on the sharp stones of the path. Yugi had been staring at the one man he was definitely not supposed to. He began to tremble with fear, surely there was a horrible punishment for such a thing.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” Yugi stuttered. “ _I did not mean to_ —I should not have intruded,” he spoke hurriedly, eyes fixed determinedly on the gravel as he maintained his low bow. There was no immediate reply, but the Pharaoh chuckled. The sound sent a shiver down Yugi’s spine.  

The damning silence dragged on for too long while the weight of Yugi’s infraction hung in the air. He stayed where he had collapsed on his aching knees, not daring to look up. He would have groveled if he had not become so paralyzed by fear and the King’s gaze on his shoulders. “You are peculiarly small,” the Pharaoh finally spoke—a tremor through Yugi’s feeble heart. He had never imagined what the man might sound like, but somehow his voice alone was more than Ryou’s description could have ever conveyed. It was was rich but not rough. Like a strong current pulling under a smooth river.

Yugi continued to stare down into the stones of the path while tears pricked at the corner of his vision. The silence had returned, interrupted only by a river bird crooning in the distance and the trickle of running water in the garden while Yugi awaited his punishment. Eventually he made the terrible realization that the King was waiting for a response to his strange comment. “I suppose so, Your Highness,” Yugi finally whispered through his trembling lips.

After a another drawn out pause, the man spoke again. “It’s hardly a crime to want to see these gardens. Although it was something I was punished for many times as a child,” he said.

Against his best judgement Yugi dared a small peek from where he sat. The Pharaoh was starting out thoughtfully over the grounds. Yugi felt stunned, seeing the King up so close for the first time. The Pharaoh looked back down, and a jolt went through Yugi’s stomach as they made eye contact again. His stare was so intense, that Yugi dared not look away. “My mother built them you know,” the King said with a soft smile. “My father had them closed off to everyone after her death. I was punished many times as a child for sneaking into them.” Yugi dropped his eyes from the man’s face, and looked out over the pond next to them.

“She must have been very talented, they are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Yugi murmured. That much was true. All of Yugi’s sense seemed to have deserted him so he looked back up at the King again. The Pharaoh had a wistful smile on his face, as he stared out over the pond Yugi had been looking at.

“A talent I’m afraid I didn’t inherit. I have only a mediocre taste for flower arrangement,” he commented. Was that a joke? Yugi didn’t know.

“Something that probably pleases the royal gardeners—happily employed to do it for you,” Yugi replied.

The King chuckled. “I suppose so,” he said. The Pharaoh tilted his head slightly, his large gold earrings clinking gently. Yugi could hear it now too, the sound of arguing voices approaching quickly. “You best be off then, little one,” The King murmured with some urgency. Yugi made the fastest bow that he could, scrambling to pick up the bound packet that he had dropped and hurrying back up the path he had come down. He didn’t dare look back to see if he had been spotted.

 

* * *

 

Ryou was carefully carrying the now familiar wooden tray down through the dungeon corridors when he heard voices. This was extremely concerning to him, and he froze in the dark where he stood in alarm. Ryou had been delivering the daily meal to the prisoner for several weeks, but had never come across another person down in the area. The man called Marik hadn’t even ever spoken to Ryou again. As far as Ryou knew, he was the only one who knew how to navigate down to the cell blocks in the maze. Ryou began to creep slowly down the corridor in the darkness, thankful that his bare feet were silent on the cold stone. The noise did seem to be coming from the cells where Marik was imprisoned, and Ryou began to feel some fear. He was sure that Marik had to be a dangerous man.

As he rounded the final corner the sounds were growing clearer. A strong voice Ryou had never heard before was laughing. Ryou crouched at the edge of the corner out of the glow of a strange new light. He could make out the new figure now. There was a tall man with a long shock of white hair who had discarded a lit torch onto the ground. He had his hands on his hips and in the firelight Ryou could see that he looked downright gleeful at the situation.

“I cannot believe you got yourself captured,” the new man laughed. “I’ve seen you take on a dozen elite soldiers without a scratch, a couple palace guards and now I have to waste my time breaking you out.” The tall newcomer was shaking his head in amusement. His long white hair swinging, sharply contrasted against the long red and gold robe he was wearing.

“I didn’t feel like breaking a sweat,” Marik’s now familiar voice responded. Ryou couldn’t see him, the depths of the cell obscured from the angle he was crouched at. “Gets so boring after a while,” the blonde droned. The newcomer strode over to the low wooden bench next to the cells, lifting it and heaving it over to Marik’s cell.

“Come help me lift this hinge, you dumb ox,” the white haired stranger demanded lightheartedly. They were almost out of his line of sight but Ryou could hear their footsteps, and the groan of clanking metal. Ryou was beginning to understand what he was witnessing, and he knew that he absolutely should flee the scene. But he couldn’t seem to summon the power to move. Instead he stayed crouched, barely breathing.

“Where is Malik?” Marik asked his friend.

“Probably enjoying a good night’s sleep,” The other voice replied. “You know I wouldn’t let him near this place.”

“Thanks,” Marik muttered before emitting a deep groan of effort. Ryou flinched as an enormous screech and clanging told him that the door to the cell had given way. Both men stepped into the light now. Ryou had been right, Marik was a very tall and muscular man clothed in long purple robes. The man breaking him out was perhaps not quite as tall, but he was close and still a very powerful figure.

“Someone will have heard that,” Marik said in his heavy voice. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yeah,” the newcomer replied, bending to pick up the torch he had discarded. “Just one last thing real quick,” he added calmly, before swinging the torch in the direction of Ryou’s hiding space. “We have an eavesdropper.”

Ryou swore as the firelight fell across where he was crouched. With the first instinct that came to mind he scrambled for footing, taking off running back down the corridor as fast as he could. Fear gripped his stomach and he realized how slim his head start was, he could hear loud footsteps gaining on him. He had just reached the first corner when someone seized the back of his shirt and he found himself pulled around and his back slammed against a wall. His head collided with stone and his vision went white as pain shot through his head.

His head throbbed and he felt like he was going to be sick. He tried to struggle but he was now trapped between a solid body and the wall. The white haired man had slid one of his muscular thighs between Ryou’s legs, pinning him where he was. Ryou’s vision was just beginning to stop spinning when he realized with a jolt of dread that the strange feeling at his neck was a knife being held to his throat.

“ _Well, well, well_ , what do we have here?” The man smirked down at him as Ryou tried to push him off with no avail. Up close Ryou finally got a good look at the newcomer. He had a strong tan face, and was staring down at Ryou with his dark red gaze. The eyes were so unusual that Ryou almost didn’t notice the distinctive scar slashed into the man’s cheek. The man looked positively smug as he grinned at Ryou. From down where he was Ryou could see the man had a pair of unusually sharp canine teeth that glinted slightly in the firelight. Ryou opened his mouth to voice something but only a weak whimper came out.

“Really, Bakura?” Ryou could just make out Marik standing behind his captor’s shoulder. “He’s just a slave, let him go.” Marik sounded exasperated.

The man called Bakura moved to put away the knife but didn’t release his tight hold on Ryou. “You’re an unusual little thing aren’t you?” His voice had lowered into something almost resembling a purr. Bakura had slid his free hand into the back of Ryou’s hair and used his grip to tilt Ryou’s head back to get a better look. Ryou was so close that he thought he could hear the man’s heartbeat inside his muscular bare chest that was inches from Ryou’s face. Bakura ran his calloused thumb over Ryou’s cheek almost tenderly.

“Let me go!” Ryou hissed, renewing his struggling with no success. If anything it only seemed to amuse the white haired man even more.

“Or what?” Bakura asked playfully, sliding his thigh more firmly between Ryou’s legs. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do here?” Before Ryou could come up with a response, there was the distinct sound of shouting in the distance. Half a second later the further noises made it clear that guards were on their way.

“Bakura!” Marik hissed. “I’d like to stab as few people as possible today.”

Bakura frowned, still staring down at Ryou before sighing. “Looks like I don’t have time for you today, dove.” He released Ryou, and as Ryou collapsed to his knees he could just barely see the bottom of Bakura and Marik’s robes disappearing around the corner as the fled. Ryou sat shaking where he had fallen, unmoving as he waited for the rapidly approaching guards to find him next to the dropped torch that was still burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand just like that Bakura finally makes an appearance. One more character left (Malik) and you'll have met them all I believe. Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only had a brief proofread, so please forgive any mistakes.

“Yugi, what happened to your knees?” Ryou exclaimed, sitting up from where he had been laying with damp cloth over his face before the smaller boy had entered the chamber and disturbed him. The boy was standing in the entrance, looking shaken. There was a noticeable trickle of blood running down each of his legs from a series of small cuts across his kneecaps.

“Forget about me!” Yugi blurted, chest heaving as if he had been running. “They said you were attacked!” He hurried over to crouch down on the low mat where Ryou was holding himself up on shaky arms. Ryou protested weakly as Yugi snatched the cloth from his hand and fussed over the white haired boy.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Ryou assured him. “I wasn’t really attacked.”

“You have a head injury!” Yugi countered, ignoring Ryou’s protest.

“Yes, I hit my head,” Ryou conceded. He reached his hand up and winced as he grazed the large swollen bump on the back of his skull.

“I'm so glad you’re alright,” Yugi looked relieved.

“How did you know?” Ryou asked, curiously. He was struggling to remember much of what had happened in the last few hours at all, and slaves were usually forbidden to gossip so. Although that really only encouraged them.

“The kitchens are a mess!” Yugi told him. “Soldiers everywhere, pushing around. Everyone is talking about a break in. There are men turning the whole palace upside down.”

“Have they found them?” Ryou asked, wide eyed.

“I have no idea,” Yugi answered. “Wait, who?” He asked in surprise as he registered the question fully.

“I think it was more of a break _out,_ ” Ryou croaked weakly.

“Here, lay down.” Yugi insisted, helping Ryou recline himself back onto the mat. “What do you mean a break out?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“It was down in the dungeons,” Ryou began quietly. “I was down there doing my tasks,” he swallowed. “I heard voices, and I don’t know why in the name of the Gods I went towards them.”

“Voices?” Yugi asked, bewildered. “In the dungeons?”

Ryou gave a very small nod. “Someone was talking to that prisoner down there. Someone I’ve never seen before,” he breathed. “I just knew he didn’t belong. Tall man, had this enormous head of white hair.” Ryou’s expression clouded as he struggled to remember. He shook his head as if to clear it but the pain spiked and he groaned.

“What did you do?” Yugi asked, his tiny hands shaking a little as he stilled his friend’s movements and adjusted the thin blankets pulled over Ryou.

“Nothing,” Ryou whispered. “I just hid around the corner. They talked a lot. I was too afraid they would see me if I moved.”

“Is that who they’re looking for?” Yugi asked.

“Must be,” Ryou closed his eyes. “He helped that Marik guy escape, they broke the door free somehow.” Ryou’s brow furrowed in thought. “ _Bakura_ ,” he said after a moment.

“Bakura?” Yugi asked, bewildered.

Ryou opened his eyes, turning his head just slightly enough to look at Yugi. “That was the man’s name,” Yugi’s eyes went wide.

“What was he wearing?” Yugi asked hurriedly.

Ryou looked puzzled. “What was he wearing?” He repeated.

“Was it red?” Yugi asked, strangely insistently.

Ryou blinked, astonished. “How did you know that?” He asked the smaller boy.

“A man with serpent’s eyes, pale skin, and a red robe who cannot be contained by any mortal structure,” Yugi said. “You don’t know who that is?” Ryou just stared back at him blankly. “Bakura, _the Thief King,"_  Yugi whispered.

Ryou’s mouth fell open. “That’s absurd,” he croaked.

“It makes sense!” Yugi insisted. “It would explain so much.”

“I…” Ryou trailed off. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He didn’t have half the brain power he needed to process such things at that moment.

“Did they hurt you?” Yugi asked worriedly. Ryou tried to adjust his head again but winced as pain shot through his skull.

“They saw me,” Ryou told him. “There was a scuffle and I hit my head.” He felt himself blush a little as he remembered how the strange man had trapped and held him in place. “But the soldiers were coming,” he added. “They had to hurry away.”

“I don’t think they caught them. The King’s men are in an awful mood,” Yugi shivered. “You don’t think they’re still here, do you?”

Ryou paled a little. “I don’t know. I hope not…” Yugi rubbed his hands over his own bare arms in a nervous manner. Ryou’s eyes roamed down the boy’s frame until they fell upon the broken skin again. “What happened to your knees?” Ryou asked quickly, changing the subject.

Yugi let out a slightly hysterical hiccup and covered his face in his hands. “Oh, Ryou,” He groaned. “I messed up so bad.”

“What happened?” Ryou asked, his brow furrowing.

Yugi’s hands fell from his face, revealing an exasperated expression. “I was just supposed to run an errand! I went all the way up the West Hall like you told me to, but you didn’t warn me about the gardens…”

“Warn you?” Ryou asked, confused. He’d seen those expansive gardens more than a few times himself in his life. “They’re beautiful. Built by the Pharaoh's mother.”

“I know!” Yugi squeaked. “They were so beautiful. I just had to stop and look,” he bit his lip. “I was standing in the middle of the garden very much where I was not supposed to be when someone found me.”

“Oh Yugi…” Ryou whispered, sitting up again slightly. He knew all too well how severely the upper level servants were often punished for mistakes. “What happened?”

“I looked at him!” Yugi squeaked. “I didn’t know who he was he was just standing there and he’s so beautiful. I was standing there just staring right at the Pharaoh!”

Ryou sat up in surprise. Everything throbbed for a moment, obscuring his vision but he plowed on. “What! What happened?” He exclaimed, his voice cracking. Yugi’s face had turned bright red.

“I just tried to bow as quickly as I could, cut my knees on the rocks. Oh Ryou, I was so frightened!” Yugi’s voice shook a little in a hysterical giggle.

“What did he do?” Ryou asked, reaching out to steady one of Yugi’s shaking hands.

The nervousness seemed to slide of Yugi’s face a little, replaced with a kind of sheepish smile. “Nothing really. He told me a story about his mother and the gardens and then told me I should be on my way.”

Ryou blinked, struggling to understand. The Pharaoh was the most infamous man in the kingdom, but Ryou hardly knew anything about him at all. Eventually he dropped the tension his shoulders a little bit. “You talked to him?” He asked, genuinely surprised.

“Just a few words.” Yugi told him. “He said a few things to me, I was in such awe you were right he’s so…” Yugi trailed off. “Majestic,” he gave an embarrassed shrug.

Ryou let out a low whistle. “What a miraculous thing,” he murmured.

Yugi let out a snort of laughter. “You can say that again.”

“Here,” Ryou said, holding out his damp cloth in his own weak hand. “Clean yourself up a little.”

Yugi took the towel with a small smile. “Thanks,” he said sincerely, pressing it to some of the cuts that were still oozing.

“My pleasure,” Ryou told him, slowly laying back down and closing his eyes against the steady pain throbbing at the back of his skull.

 

* * *

 

 

“Can you believe there’s a breakout right under our noses?” Seto scoffed, casting the parchment he had been reading aside in distaste. The Pharaoh sat at a low table, a troubled look on his young face as he waited patiently for his oldest advisor to make a move in their game of senet.

“Gentlemen…” Sugoroku sighed wearily. “I do try not to talk about death or criminals before noon unless absolutely necessary.”

Seto crossed his arms. “What part of right under our noses isn’t absolutely necessary to you?” He scowled.

“I have heard the most peculiar rumor as of late,” Sugoroku offered casually, completely ignoring Seto as he surveyed his playing pieces.

“Pray, do tell us what keeps an old man entertained!” Jou exclaimed sarcastically from his position sprawled across a couch on the adjacent wall.

The advisor finally moved his pawn on the board and then sat back to survey the room. “Several hands in the kitchen,” Jou rolled his eyes and mimed a fat stomach with his hands at Sugoroku’s words, “have been talking about one of the new slave boys who is unmatched at senet.”

“Slaves playing senet these days then?” Seto asked, clearly still irritated. “Working hard.”

“I think it’s that little one,” Sugoroku continued as if he hadn’t heard the priest. “The one who looks so much like…”

“You mean the sorcerer?” Jou asked, propping himself up on the leather to glance conspiratorially at the King.

“Jou, you wouldn’t know a true sorcerer if they smacked you in your arrogant face,” Seto snapped, returning to his papers with obvious annoyance.

The Pharaoh sighed at their banter. “You grow bored of my challenge then, Sugoroku?” He asked.  

“An old man must always be open to learning new tricks,” Sugoroku smiled, patting his belly. “I may seek him out.”

“Do we have any idea who it was?” The King asked the room at large, tearing his eyes away from the board.

“We captured one of the Thief King’s right hand men, is it really that difficult of a leap to make?” Seto asked sullenly.

“It was peculiar…” Sugoroku spoke slowly, stroking his beard. “I’d never seen anyone put up less of a fight or be so apathetic about imprisonment.”

“That guy’s brain is a sack of cats,” Seto drawled, attention still focused on his reading.

“We’re sure he couldn’t have sprung himself?” The Pharaoh asked.

Jou shook his head, his shaggy blonde hair flopping. “Pulled the grate right from the hinge. It would have taken two, maybe three of my best men to do that. There’s no way he did it himself.”

The King frowned. “Did anyone actually see anything?”

“Yeah,” Jou nodded. “There was a slave boy down there. The guards found him. He was real scared and had a nasty blow to the head. He wasn’t much help.”

“I’m sure they’re long gone by now,” Seto pointed out. “We’re just going to have to beat them to their next target.”

Jou rolled his eyes with a huff. “We’d need an actual sorcerer to predict that.”

 

* * *

 

“There you two are!” A skinny blonde cried out as he threw himself at Marik in a blur of lavender. The taller blonde staggered backwards from the force of the embrace. “What took you so long?” The younger boy demanded, leaning back to glare at the both of them the best he could. Marik chuckled, his face breaking into a genuine smile as he wrapped his arms around the newcomer. Bakura shot the two of them a moody look.

“Missed you too, Malik,” The white haired man muttered sarcastically, leading the two large brown horses he and Marik had ridden through the desert to the oasis behind him. In the distance several large white tents could be seen partially concealed by a steep rock outcrop.

“Bakura had to stop and feel up some servant,” Marik commented with a poorly concealed turn of his lips, ruffling Malik’s hair with a free hand.

Malik’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really Bakura?” He asked in an exasperated voice. “Did you need to stop and get laid?”

Marik snorted, still wrapped around the smaller boy. “If you count him holding the boy hostage at knife point.”

Malik winced. “Very romantic.”

“Are you idiots done?” Bakura growled. He swept past the two of them towards the campsite, his red robes billowing in the desert air behind him.

“Ignore him,” Marik whispered, dipping his head to kiss Malik properly.

“I always do,” Malik murmured when they broke apart. “I was so worried about you,” he added in sad tone, placing his hands on the taller man’s chest. Marik rested his forehead against the smaller boy’s and hummed slightly.

“You know I’ll always come home,” he replied sincerely, rubbing Malik’s back in a gentle manner.

The corner of Malik’s mouth twitched. “You keep saying that like I’ll believe it,” he sighed.

“C’mon.” Marik said, taking Malik’s hand and pulling him towards the campsite. “We should get moving before Bakura rips someone’s head off.”

“Hardly anyone is even here right now,” Malik told him. “What’s got him in such a bad mood?” He asked as they walked towards the small hidden pond together.

Marik shrugged. “He didn’t find what he was looking for. Took him forever too,” he added, watching Bakura and the horses he was leading disappear around the corner into the campsite.

“Well you’re both filthy,” Malik declared, looking up and down and taking in Marik’s full appearance for the first time.

Marik looked down at the front of his dingy robe with a slight frown. Eventually he shrugged. “It’s a long story, I’ll explain after we eat.”

“I’m worried about all of this,” Malik whispered. They could hear the distant noises of camp members welcoming Bakura back.

Marik squeezed his hand. “We all are,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

 

Yugi sat quietly hunched over a low table, nervously eyeing the various pawns and pieces laid out across the dark wood. A short and plump man sat opposite from him, thumbs tucked into the waistband of his exquisite green and white robe. He had an aged but a rosy face, with an amused smile aimed in Yugi’s direction.

“You may have to make a move eventually,” The gray-haired man broke the silence with a good natured jest, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Although it would be a surprise to no one, it would be quite embarrassing to die of old age waiting for the first play of the game.”

Yugi blinked rapidly to clear his train of thought as his attention was drawn away from the board. “My apologies,” he murmured, addressing the royal elder as respectfully as possible. He was under the impression that Sugoroku was a member of the royal family, although the man’s extremely peculiar behavior often left him grasping at straws. “I am not used to a game this formal.”

Sugoroku gave a little chuckle. “By all means, we can trade this table for your sticks and pebbles if it would make you more comfortable.”

Yugi flushed, thoroughly embarrassed that the elder knew so much about his makeshift pastime. He was already struggling as it was to not feel so out of place sitting in the man’s private sitting room off his royal chamber. “No,” Yugi said hastily. “This set is exquisite,” he continued, reaching at hand out to gently finger the beautifully carved and stained wood.

“It was a gift from my nephew,” Sugoroku told him quite proudly. “Although…” he added thoughtfully. “I do believe he was regifting.”

Yugi raised an eyebrow as he carefully moved his first pawn into play. “It is a stunning table. Fit for a king.”

Sugoroku gave one of his mischievous smiles. “Something like that,” he said with a wink. Sugoroku made the second move of the game with practiced ease, as though he had already been expecting Yugi’s first move for some time. Yugi frowned with annoyance as he recognized the well strategized placement that would force him to play defense immediately.

They spent most of the time in amiable silence as the shadows lengthened. Yugi growing more confident and daring with each move. Sugoroku matched his cleverest maneuvers play for play, and Yugi found the genuine challenge enthralling. “You play extraordinarily well,” Sugoroku broke the calm silence as he surveyed his position on the board. Yugi has finally been able to trap him into a corner, and was hoping to be turning the tide of their stalemate.

“You flatter me,” Yugi murmured. “You’ve seen right through my best tricks.”

Sugoroku chuckled. “I fear you have not found many challengers your equal lately.”

Yugi would have agreed, if the loud scraping of an iron hinge and a door opening off the chamber hadn’t interrupted the calmness of the room. Yugi looked up from the small table, suddenly very self conscious of his position as a pair of voices could be heard approaching them. A servant sitting in a fine room where he did not belong, wasting the afternoon playing a game because an old man had requested it. But Ahmet had greeted Sugoroku fondly and sent Yugi off with him, barely batting an eye at the request.

Yugi’s stomach did a little lurch when the newcomers appeared, pushing their way through the curtain. He snapped his eyes back towards the table as quickly as he could when he caught sight of one very tall brunette man flanked by an all-too-familiar man decorated in an ornate gold crown.

“ _Sugoroku_ ,” The Pharaoh greeted affectionately, his deep voice filling the room.

The old man hadn’t even looked up from the board, seemingly still focused intensely on his next move. “Hopefully whatever this is it can wait, boys,” he said with a small sigh. “I fear I am in quite a tough spot currently.” Even though Yugi was involved in a massive effort not to look up from the board, he was awed by Sugoroku’s ability to dismiss their King without the slightest effort.

“It’s nice to see the palace’s workforce being put to good use,” the taller man Yugi didn’t know commented, his voice sharp and cutting compared to the other two. Yugi’s insides burned at the remark, but he did his best to keep his countenance as calm as possible.

“Manners, Seto.” Sugoroku replied with what Yugi thought might be a slight edge. “Yugi here has been a most obliging guest.”

The King had moved, his long robes rustling and gold adornments clinking as he came to stand inches from Yugi as he looked down over the table. “My, my…” the King tisked. “You are losing Sugoroku, aren’t you?” Yugi felt his face heat and a shiver run down his spine at the observation.

Sugoroku was tapping his chin thoughtfully from across the board, seemingly still unmoved and deep in thought. “I was hoping to identify his style early, but he has been rapidly improving,” he commented, praise that was certainly not helping Yugi get a grasp on his hot blush.

“Come now,” Seto interrupted. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Fair enough,” the Pharaoh replied, his attention drawn from the game on the table. “I’ll return later Sugoroku,” he told the old man with a small respectful nod in his direction.

Yugi wasn’t able to breathe easy again until the two men had long moved from the room. If Sugoroku had noticed Yugi’s discomfort, he was kind enough not to mention it. Unfortunately, the experience left his attention and confidence shattered, and Sugoroku quickly reversed the tide of their game.

 

* * *

 

“Do you plan on sulking in here all day?” Marik asked, pushing his way through the heavy canvas that served as the entrance to the lavishly decorated cavern. He had changed now, ditching the dark purple robes for a lighter tan affair.

“ _Fuck off—_ ” Bakura called out dryly from where he was sprawled out across a bed of deep blue silks scowling at the stone ceiling.

“Nah,” Marik snorted. “I’d rather not.”

Bakura fixed him with a half-hearted glare. “Did Malik send you in here?” He asked.

Marik unceremoniously tipped a pile of foreign books off a nearby chest, taking a seat with a weary sigh. “No, he’s busy running your camp.”

“Smart kid,” Bakura muttered. It wasn't an insult. 

“And yet, I’m still here,” Marik drawled. Bakura ran a hand over his face, rubbing harshly before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and propping himself up. He fixed Marik with a long hard look, his dark red eyes steady and unblinking.

“How was prison?” He asked finally.

Marik shrugged. “Been in worse holes. The privacy was kind of a nice touch actually.”

Bakura’s face was soured with a dark look as he frowned. “I didn’t mean to leave you there.”

“I wasn’t worried about it,” Marik replied honestly, not moved by the situation.

Bakura sighed, hanging his head as he ran one of his hands through his unruly hair. “How long did it take Isis to find you?” He asked.

“Longer than I was expecting,” Marik said, reaching out to pick up one of the elegantly bound books he had dumped off the chest and flipping through the unfamiliar characters inked on the priceless pages. “She’s a high priestess now.”

“Probably not wise of her to draw attention to Malik then,” Bakura commented. “Don’t suppose she’s softened up on the subject at all, has she?”

Marik shook his head. “Still would very much like to see me strung up.”

“Well, she’ll get her wish if we aren’t careful,” Bakura muttered dryly. “Have you told Malik yet?” He asked.

“No,” Marik replied.

“Are you going to?” Bakura asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s not stupid,” Marik said wearily. “It’s not something I can conceal from him.”

“Then don’t,” Bakura replied, concluding the subject as he dropped back down onto the bed with a groan as several of his joints cracked. He lay there, staring at the ceiling once more as Marik continued to let his eyes roam over the finely inked pages in front of him.

A long easy silence passed before Marik spoke again. “You know, you were the only actual _nebusemekh_ I’d ever met.”

Bakura noticeably stiffened, but when he replied his voice was even and steady. “You know I hate that word. It’s a witless myth at best.”

“He doesn’t know where he’s from,” Marik informed him, not mistaking Bakura’s shortness for disinterest. “I asked him.”

“Or perhaps he wasn’t interested in spilling his secrets to a lunatic chained up in the dungeons,” Bakura pointed out, a dry and humorless edge to his voice.

Marik gave a slight shrug. “I suppose he was probably sold as a child,” he mused darkly. “He’s either traveled a very long way in a lifetime or there are more families here like yours we don’t know about.”

“Does it matter?” Bakura asked. “He’s lucky he’s only ended up scrubbing floors and not an exotic piece of Atem’s harem.”

“Who’s an exotic piece of Atem’s harem?” A light voice asked curiously as a lanky blonde pushed his way through the canvas curtain and into the room.

“Marik, if he can’t stop getting himself captured,” Bakura smirked, sitting back up again.

“Hmmm,” Malik hummed thoughtfully, dropping himself onto Marik’s lap and twisting a lock of Marik’s thick blonde hair around his finger. “I don’t really know that you’re harem material,” he admitted with a playful tug.

Marik arched an eyebrow in a mock affront. “Really?” He asked. “What makes you say that?”

Malik tapped one of his long bejeweled fingers on Marik’s nose while pretending to think. “Too wild,” he concluded. “Does not take instruction well.”

“What a shame,” Marik tutted. “Whatever will I do instead?” He asked, pulling Malik closer on his lap.

“ _Morons_ ,” Bakura muttered as Malik burst into laughter.

“There he is,” Malik grinned. “Is this what you’ve been doing all day?” He asked the white haired man as he pulled away from Marik, frowning as he noticed the general mess around the room. Trunks upturned, and parchments discarded haphazardly.

Bakura shrugged. “It’s been more productive than you think.”

“Up now,” Malik shooed Bakura up off the bed, throwing the cleanest robe he could locate towards the man. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “We actually have things to do.”

“Alright, _alright_ ,” Bakura grumbled, throwing his hands up in surrender.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely going to be a long, slow burning story but I've always preferred mine that way! Let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter Four

Yugi sat once again opposite the graying advisor, absorbed in the now familiar playing board laid out between them. In the weeks that had passed Yugi had become more comfortable in Sugoroku’s chambers, his confidence growing with every match. He was holding his ground fairly well now, beating the older man as many times as Sugoroku managed to get the upper hand on him. Usually, anyway. When there wasn’t an audience around.

“Why do you suppose he watches us so, Yugi?” Sugoroku asked, breaking the silence in the room.

Yugi didn’t respond immediately, used to the drawn out discussions their games usually involved. It certainly wasn’t the first time the King had dropped in on them unannounced, but this time the young ruler had situated himself adjacent to their game without so much as a word. Yugi wished that he could say the silence helped his concentration, but there was something so intense about the Pharaoh that silence only seemed to amplify. Still, he was determined not to let it put him off his game.

Yugi carefully evaluated his next play several times over before he reached out to move the pawn, guarding against a clever strategy Sugoroku was doing his best to sneak by him. “Well,” Yugi finally responded when he could no longer reasonably delay. “I believe one learns much by watching others play.”

“That they do,” Sugoroku agreed while stroking his short beard. “A skilled tactician will do his best to study his challenger long before the conflict.”

“I think we may conclude then, that he intends to gain the upper hand on one of us,” Yugi continued, carefully matching Sugoroku’s feigned monotone. A deep voice next to them gave a grunt of amusement, but Yugi kept his eyes firmly fixed on the pieces in front of him no matter how tempting it was glance over at the King.

“Surely it wouldn’t be me,” Sugoroku replied. Yugi could see that despite his acting skills a small smile was beginning to tug at the corner of the old man’s mouth.

“Why not?” Yugi asked, genuine curiosity driving him forward into dangerous territory.

Sugoroku sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid I haven’t posed a challenge to him since he was but a small child.”

“Oh,” Yugi said quietly, feeling his face heat at the suggestion.

 

* * *

 

Ryou rubbed at his temples, in spite of the layer of grime coating his hands. His head was pounding, and his skin surged with an uncomfortable heat even in the underground room. He knew he was getting sick, and was struggling to conceal it.

He pulled another large bronze platter toward him, rewetting his rag as he tried to refocus on his polishing. The rough hewn table he was working at was piled high with bronze pieces. Bowls, serving plates, and all kinds of flatware glinted in the candlelight despite the tarnished state of most of the pieces. Ryou had already been polishing for several days but the collection of dishware to be worked still loomed as high as it had when he had started.

The only light in the storeroom was provided by the candles Ryou had brought with him, so that the small corner he occupied was illuminated but not the enormous room beyond. Ryou couldn’t see it where he stood in the dark, but he knew it was there. Rows and rows of tables and displays piled with forgotten treasures being stored under the palace. He had woven his way through the chaos of gifts, ornaments, and grandeur that had been long since retired each morning and evening in the past few days.

Ryou knew that this storeroom was only one of many, with hundreds of years of gold and fine furnishings kept under the palace. He doubted anyone actually had a decent knowledge of the breadth of the collection at this point. Still, Ahmet knew where the good bronze he wanted was housed and had put Ryou to work cleaning it up in time for some event he had been turning over the palace for.

Ryou dropped the rag and closed his eyes with a shaky exhale as his vision blurred in front of him. He was sweating profusely, unusual for him in the cooler spaces underground. He tried to take a few deep breaths, steeling himself against the hours of work the half burned candle told him he had left. Ahmet didn’t take kindly to illness, and the danger it posed amongst the workers and the Crown’s assets. Occasionally it swept through the slave quarters, praying most often on the old or weak.

 

* * *

 

A task master had roused Yugi much earlier than usual that morning, so early that Yugi had carefully stumbled over Ryou, doing his best not to wake his friend who had been sleeping fitfully throughout the night. Yugi had been kept so busy he had hardly been able to see the white haired boy, but he was growing increasingly worried about his friend’s unwell state. Yugi had been sent bustling from one end of the palace to the other throughout the whole day, carefully balancing all kinds of parchments fixed with weighty official seals. His feet ached but he knew better than to slow down or rest, since loitering by servants was hardly tolerated in the central palace.

The sun was finally starting to set, casting soft shadows through the long white curtains that swirled around the windows and doorways in the cooling breeze. It was a dazzling sight, even if the beauty was somewhat diminished by the lengthy tasks driving Yugi to a weary limp. It was no surprise to him that the furnishings were getting finer and more elaborate as he hurried along, despite that this was part of the palace he had never been too. Which was unusual, since Yugi had recently been frequenting many corners of the main palace.

He had entered the part of the sprawling building where the King took up residence, for one of the last assignments he had been tasked with. The more robust decorations of the common areas of the palace were giving way to an opulence that reflected the station of those who lived in the halls nearest to the Pharaoh. Yugi was carefully counting the halls and rooms as he went, since he knew if he went too far he would reach the private entrance to the temples. The royal temple had been built and rebuilt by generations of pharaohs, as a testament to the great abundance and exalted nature of their nation. Yugi had heard it boasted that it was the largest temple in creation, although only a precious few of the royal priests were permitted to move within the actual temple walls.

While the various palace chambers he was currently tracking his way through were unknown to Yugi, the individual he had been tasked with locating was not. Unfortunately that was little comfort to Yugi as with the exception of Seto, the presence of the King was one of the most off-putting and uncomfortable things Yugi had experienced. Although in two entirely different manners. He frowned down at the royal priest’s official seal stamped across the heavily bound collection of documents he was transporting. He knew that Seto was heralded in his profession, and that the accomplished brunette enjoyed a close personal relationship with the King. Yugi had seen that much himself, even if Seto’s clipped manners had seemed so unpleasant to him. The Pharaoh was well… something else entirely.

Yugi’s careful counting was mostly a waste, because as he came upon the entrance to the chambers he was seeking, there was no mistaking the importance of what lay within. A pair of enormous wooden doors thicker than any tree in Egypt stood open, with long white hanging linens obscuring the view of what lay beyond. Two hefty guards flanked either side of the doorway, towering over the empty hall with faces so impassive they might have been part of the lavish carvings. Yugi paused awkwardly for a moment, sure that he must require permission to enter such a place. His tentative glances at the two armored men went unreturned, fueling his uneasiness.

It took a moment for Yugi to summon his wits. He stepped through the entryway and pushed back the delicate curtains, momentarily dazzled by the array of color and reflections the evening light cast about the well adorned room. Large and robust pieces of furniture filled the space, with a set of dark chairs strewn around a generously sized senet board in one corner and shelves stacked high with thick leather volumes in another. Careful to keep his head bowed appropriately, Yugi hardly knew where to look. His gaze skipped over the various ornaments in a hurried rush to locate the one entity he had been sent for.

The tension that had been slowly building in Yugi sagged as his rapid observations slowed. The room was empty. As much of a room as it was considering Yugi could see the shadowed outlines of carved columns and what might have been an enormous four-poster bed distantly though the next screen of curtains hanging at the end of the space. Yugi blinked as he looked around in silence, his brain churning. It hadn’t occurred to him that the Pharaoh might not be in the royal chambers, and the tension began return as quickly as it had left him.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the space, which didn’t make any sense to Yugi. Surely the King held regular servants, why would his private chambers ever be left so empty and unguarded? Yugi knew it wasn’t his place to speak or call out, and yet it seemed still even more inappropriate for him to move further into the space. His fingers clutched at the heavy leather weight he held. He wondered if he should sit, kneel where he stood in the middle of the room on the stone and wait for someone to appear. Yugi’s contemplations came to an abrupt halt as the heavy silence was interrupted by a deep voice.

“Looking for someone?” The voice asked. Yugi’s attention was snatched to off to the side of the chamber he was standing in, to a small passageway that had gone unnoticed in his initial examination. This time he did kneel, wincing as his bare knees hit the smooth stone floor. He held his precious volume out carefully, to make his intentions clear. All while Egypt’s Pharaoh remained undisturbed, leaning against the corner of the side hall he had apparently just come through with a faint smile tugging at his expression. His long fingers toying with a piece of dark fruit he was carrying.

“ _My King,_ ” Yugi murmured quietly, hot with embarrassment and struggling to keep his arms from shaking in the awkward position he held. He’d served a harsh master his entire life and yet somehow all of his strict training seemed to desert him when it came to the most dangerous man he would ever tend to. The Pharaoh did not speak again immediately, but he stepped away from the wall and came moving across the room. Something Yugi heard more than he saw, as he stared pointedly into the stone under his knees.

But the King did not stop where he was crouched, and seemed to pass by Yugi without concern. The bottom of his longest robe trailing against Yugi’s bare leg. He knelt in almost disbelief as the Pharaoh's light footsteps moved further from him, through the hangings and into the next space beyond. When he was sure the man must have passed, Yugi glanced up under his bangs, doing his best to assess the situation. It did not seem right to remain where he was, crouched with the official volume it was so important for him to deliver. Was it his duty to follow? Or would he find a grave mistake in overstepping his bounds?

The ache of his knees on the bare floor eventually spurred him into action. Yugi rose to his feet as quietly as he could and tentatively followed his way through the final barrier, careful to keep his eyes as downcast as he could in the new light. This space was open to the outside, a soft breeze swirling around Yugi as he took a few cautious steps forward before kneeling again. He held the bound leather out as before.

“You assume I have such devious intentions, watching you play?” The King asked. Although Yugi had been expecting it, the Pharaoh’s deep voice caused his stomach to flip over. Throwing caution to the wind, Yugi looked up.

“I must beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” Yugi whispered quietly, his voice cracking slightly in his complete bewilderment. He struggled to connect the dots, as his eyes took in the surroundings. Many doors had been thrown open out onto what Yugi could only assume was a tremendous balcony across from of him. It was a large room, with ceilings so high the distance seemed dizzying. There was the most enormous bed Yugi had ever seen, draped in such a collection of white linen that it almost seemed unreal. Beautiful carvings and colors lept out at him, as several heavy wooden doors concealed even more chambers from view.

In the midst of such glamour, Egypt’s young King sat sprawled across a low claw-footed lounge not ten paces from where Yugi knelt. Between his distinctive appearance and the heavy collection of gold he wore, the man seemed just as much art as the craftsmanship around him. His long tan limbs glistened where his white and blue robes parted to reveal them. Yugi’s eyes were drawn to the large half-eaten plum the man’s fingers were toying with, though he could feel the King’s gaze heavy on him.

“You play with Sugoroku quite often,” the man stated. It wasn’t a question, and if it was Yugi would hardly have known how to respond. When he could not stand the discomfort any more, Yugi summoned an immense effort and looked the man in the face. The Pharaoh was smiling at him, though it seemed to be more in amusement than general warmth. His dark eyes held no malice, but his general expression was one Yugi struggled to read.

“Sugoroku is very generous,” Yugi replied, his voice coming out barely more than a whisper.

“That he is,” The King gave a single nod of acknowledgement, still watching Yugi with a curiously amused expression. When it was clear that he would give no other response, Yugi pressed on.

“Seto’s attendant sent me with these,” Yugi spoke, bowing his head respectfully. He was ever so slightly proud of how even his voice sounded considering the somersaults his insides seemed to be performing. Yugi’s eyes fell on the King’s feet and even the man’s ankles were wrapped in gold bands.

“You’re avoiding my question,” The Pharaoh countered, his amusement growing more apparent. Yugi thought his face must have been scarlet as he looked up again.

“I…” He stumbled over his words. “I did not think any devious intent on your part,” Yugi lied. The King didn’t reply, instead raising a single eyebrow in Yugi’s direction as he took another bite from the plum he was holding. “There is no shame in a competitive nature.”

The Pharaoh let out a bark of a laugh at Yugi’s comment. “Now we really can be sure Seto has sent you,” he remarked.

“Forgive me,” Yugi said, tucking his chin as a sign of respect. The King hummed in response, reclining back into the soft leather of the lounge and closing his kohl-lined eyes. Yugi knew that he shouldn’t but found it hard not to stare. Every line of the man’s body was dangerously alluring like a coiled viper content to bask under the sun.

“What does he possibly want at this hour?” The Pharaoh asked, still lying with his eyes closed.

Yugi frowned down at the formal dark script scrawled above the seal on the bound documents he held. “ _Drought Reports and Grain Production in the Upper Kingdom,_ ” He read aloud.

The King’s eyes cracked open as he propped himself up rather abruptly. Fixing Yugi with a genuinely surprised look. “Come again?” He asked, his rapt attention causing Yugi’s heart to start beating irregularly within his chest. Caught off guard by the man’s interest and no longer trusting his voice, Yugi simply pointed hopelessly to the title etched across the leather.

Both of the Pharoah's eyebrows rose at Yugi’s gesture. “You can read it?” He asked, in apparent disbelief. Yugi thought he was going to swallow his own tongue. The only other slave he had ever met who could read had been the elderly scribe who had taught him. Slaves were generally not taught to read or write, a wasted talent that many feared would give the servants skills they did not need. Or worse, ones that gave them more options.

“Should I have not, sir?” Yugi asked quietly, feeling as though every ounce of bravery he had ever possessed within himself had long since fled his being. The King’s eye seemed to catch on Yugi’s trembling hand that gripped the volume. The man continued to stare but relaxed visibly, reaching up to run a hand through his own wild hair.

“Do not worry yourself,” The Pharaoh replied, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a pestering thought. “I was merely surprised.”

Yugi swallowed. “I did not learn it here,” He assured the King quietly, struggling to find his voice again. The young ruler tilted his head, and Yugi thought that for all his beauty there was something almost predatory about the man’s appearance. _The War Eagle of the North_ , Yugi remembered Ryou had called him.

“Were you not born a slave?” The Pharaoh asked, fixing his intense gaze on Yugi in such a way that made it impossible for Yugi to tear his eyes away from the sight.

“No sir, I was,” Yugi replied quietly, his hands fidgeting with the binding of the leather in his lap. “In the Lower Kingdom.”

“So far?” The King asked, frowning slightly.  

Yugi nodded. “In a farming village,” A distant but fairly well sized village, with a number of families working the thin stretch of fertile land available.

“On the Nile then?” The Pharaoh absent mindedly twisted a large gold ring on one of his tanned fingers as he asked. Yugi felt his heart ache a little as the memories of the enormous palms and the grain fields of his first home came rushing back to him. The free grazing animals that constantly escaped their sandstone huts and the temperamental river that had provided for all of the life. Yugi nodded again as his throat seemed to close upon itself.

“That’s… where I learned,” Yugi finished after a while, staring down at the script on the leather. The hieroglyphs had been crafted by a much more skilled hand than his own, but were still very familiar.

“You’ve come a long way then,” The King noted, now looking past Yugi and out at some unseeable sight on the distant balcony.

“Yes,” Yugi agreed. “More than a week by ox-cart.” The Pharaoh opened his mouth to say something more but paused abruptly, his lips parted in confusion. After a beat, Yugi heard it too. Someone was yelling, muffled by the dense stone walls and some kind of distance, but still signaling alarm. Soon there was an awful clanging joining in with the shouts, as more voices became clear. The King quickly rose to his feet, towering over where Yugi knelt at his full height. Yugi moved to stand himself, but the other man held out a hand to stop him.

“Stay there—” The Pharaoh commanded, his casual demeanor of moments before evaporating. Yugi sat back on his heels as he was told. The King strode swiftly towards the entrance to the chambers, reaching halfway across the room before the source of the commotion tore back the curtains nearest to them.

A tall blonde man Yugi had never seen before burst into the space, the royal seal stamped across his bronze chest plate. The man was breathing heavily, as if he had just come running a great distance. The newcomer was carrying a long sword himself, but was also holding another sheathed one he immediately tossed in the Pharoah’s direction. The King caught the heavy object with practiced ease.

“What’s the meaning of this?” The Pharaoh asked, an authoritarian edge cutting deep into his voice as he drew the formidable weapon.

“We’ve got a problem!” The blonde man all but shouted. “He’s here!” The man began gesturing rapidly as he yelled again, turning on his heel. The short words seemed of significance to the two men, as Yugi watched them sprint from the space where he still sat kneeling on the stone floor. Yugi hovered unmoving for what might have been either seconds or minutes as the general noise and commotion that had awoken the palace continued to grow into a fevered clamour, the leather bound volume lying discarded next to him.

 

* * *

 

Ryou coughed thickly as the chalice he was polishing slipped from his trembling hands. A heavy bought of dizziness overtook him as the room spun. His skin burned with an unnatural heat, as his senses seemed to pulse to an uneven tempo. Ryou found himself dimly aware of a loud clanging, but he couldn’t determine if the noise was coming from a great distance or if he’d merely dropped another cup. Each breath was coming harder, as though the dungeon room was getting smaller. Closing in on him.

 

* * *

 

Bakura burst through the storage room door, immediately sending a rack of small metal objects crashing to the ground. Priceless trinkets rolled in every direction as the white haired man swung his torch wide into the darkness of the underground room. Two blondes came in a tumble through the doorway behind him.

“ _I specifically asked you not to follow us!_ ” Marik hissed, rounding on the smaller blonde as Bakura began violently upending tables and displays with little care.

“What did you think I was going to do!” Malik cried out, stumbling on some unseen object in the dark space. “Let you get strung up without me again?”

“I can handle myself!” Marik snapped, turning angrily to join Bakura in his frenzied search.

“Malik, shut up and watch the door,” Bakura snarled, emptying a velvet lined box of exquisite glass decorations onto the rough-hewn floor with particular distaste. Malik winced as the precious pieces smashed.

“Can we find it already?” Marik hissed, the knuckles white on his clenched fist. Bakura was standing on a high table, squinting into the dim room beyond.

“Split up!” Bakura shouted. “Quickly! We’ve got to cover more ground.” Marik and Malik continued to bicker in hushed tones as Malik soon abandoned his post at the door, joining in the search.

Bakura ignored them as he tore through drawers and cabinets, desperately aware of how little time they had before they were discovered. Everything was so familiar, the infamous names and figures of his childhood appearing across documents and artwork as he made his way deeper into the room. He had come too far to be this close.

On another scan of what he could see in the torchlight before him a few small statues caught his eye, perched on top of a large ornate desk almost lost under a mountain of parchment rolls. Bakura’s blood burned as he came closer, abruptly stopping in his tracks as he reached the desk. He’d seen that funerary statue before, although it had been the full version. A face he would never forget.

Bakura wrenched open the main drawer of the desk, pushing aside a few charts and useless bits of scrap until a large diagram was revealed underneath. He stopped breathing altogether as he scanned the parchment, his eyes tracing the miniature lines as they splayed all over the page. When his brain recognized the familiar design at one end, he tore the entire collection of parchment from the drawer, seizing them in his fist.

“Oh Gods!” Malik called out from a distance across the room. “There’s somebody here!” His voice sounded surprised, but not particularly alarmed. Bakura whirled around in frustration, locating the flickering fire-light that indicated where Malik was standing.

“What?” Bakura snarled. He could hear Marik’s heavy footsteps running now, even if he couldn’t see him in the darkness.

“I…” Malik’s distant voice trailed off. “I think he’s dead.”

Bakura’s grip was still deadly tight on the parchment he had seized but he was moving now, dodging the ornate furnishings and retired art as Malik’s form came into view. The blonde was standing next to a cluttered table and peering down at the floor with an unpleasant look on his face. Marik reached him before Bakura did. “Oh for heaven's sake.” Marik muttered as he rounded the table that was blocking Bakura’s view.

“What?” Bakura asked again, until he reached the edge of the table and the light from his torch fell over the figure that lay unmoving on the dusty stone floor. He stopped, surprise momentarily getting the best of him. The boy’s face was obscured by his long mess of white hair, but Bakura was sure it was the same individual. A pair of long knobbly and skinny legs stuck out from the bottom of his slave’s shenti, unnaturally pale in the warm light. Bakura thrust the diagrams he had been holding into Marik’s hands, stooping without so much as a word. Bakura placed two of his fingers on the boy’s neck.

“He’s alive,” Bakura whispered as he felt the feeble throb of a weak pulse.

“Don’t touch him!” Marik hissed. “Bakura, he’s sick.” Bakura ignored him as he reached out and carefully lifted most of the white hair off of the boy’s face. The boy didn’t stir but made a kind of pitiful moan as his fevered face was revealed.

“He looks horrible,” Malik said sadly. Bakura gently pushed the boy over onto his back, revealing a bony face and neck tainted with an alarming red flush.

“Bakura…” Marik warned, an almost exasperated tone to his voice. “I know what you’re thinking.” But Bakura had already made up his mind, gathering the skinny boy up in his arms as he stood. The unconscious boy’s head rolled back, and his long white hair hung limp and tangled. Marik gestured exasperatedly with his free hand.

“I thought we were stealing the Pharaoh’s stuff, not his people!” Marik hissed, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Please, just move!” Malik urged. “Before we all end up in a cell.”

 

* * *

 

Nervousness and an anxious gripping fear had finally driven Yugi from the Pharaoh's chambers back down to the lower levels of the building where he belonged. Fear of whatever danger seemed to be occurring in the palace or fear of failing in his obligations to properly serve the Crown, Yugi could hardly pinpoint. The normally empty palace had seemed suddenly full of people, with servants and soldiers alike creating chaos in the halls.

Even though it had taken him what felt like hours, Yugi had barely made it back down into the slave’s quarters in the dungeons when he heard renewed shouting and the sound of doors slamming. This time it seemed much closer to him than any of the commotion had been in the rest of the palace. The noise seemed to be rapidly getting closer, and Yugi snatched a small bread knife off a board in the cook room on instinct as his heart began to pound wildly in alarm.

“Ra be hanged, Ahmet!” A loud voice shouted from the hall. “He’s here somewhere!” Two familiar men came barreling into the previously empty room all at once, both appearing significantly disgruntled. Yugi blinked in astonishment as he recognized the forms of Ahmet and the blonde soldier that had fetched the King.

“You, boy!” The blonde man snarled, striding forward and seizing Yugi by the front of his robe, lifting him up off his small feet with brute strength. Yugi spluttered and screeched, grabbing hopelessly at the large hands gripping into his neck as the knife he had picked up clattered to the floor. Yugi could hear Ahmet shout something but couldn't make out what the man said over the blood rushing in his own ears. The soldier dropped Yugi as callously as he had seized him, and Yugi crumpled as he hit the floor beneath him. Everything seemed to hurt, but he scrambled back as fast as he could until his back hit the wall behind him.

“What have you done?” The man demanded, almost spitting his his rage.

Yugi’s only breaths were coming in pained gasps. “I…” he spluttered. “Sir, I do not know,” he wheezed, the hand he used to wipe at his damp face stained pink with blood. He mind screamed to beg for forgiveness but his voice seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat.

“Where’s that damned _nebusemekh_?” The blonde soldier hissed as he advanced on him again, Yugi attempting in vain to shrink down even smaller than he already was. “I know what you two are about,” he warned in a dangerous timbre.

“Jounouchi!” A loud voice boomed, paralyzing all movement within the room. Even the dust in the air seemed to hang in pause as the various inhabitants of the small space acknowledged the Pharoah’s seething presence in the doorway.  

“ _That is quite enough!_ ” The King called out again, his powerful tone devoid of all warmth. The Pharaoh stepped out of the archway and into the room, flanked closely by an equally grim Sugoroku and Seto. Yugi was torn between relief or a renewed fear at the startling entrance. This newcomer, standing tall in his finest robes and jewelry streaked with fresh blood, was every inch of Egypt’s most powerful man. His deep eyes seeming to burn with a ferocious anger on his hardened face. The blonde visibly faltered, taking a careful step away from where Yugi sat huddled against the wall.

“Your Highness…” the man called Jounouchi began.

“Enough—” The Pharaoh snapped, silencing the man’s comment. The soldier did not say anything more, but Yugi noticed him exchange a pointed glance with the the stony-faced High Priest who stood just behind the King. The Priest’s face seemed completely impassive to Yugi, but the blonde seemed to determine something from it. A heavy silence hung in the room for several moments until the Pharaoh spoke again.

“Yugi,” he began, causing the small ray of hope in Yugi’s chest to drop right out him as quickly as it had come when the King fixed his cold gaze on him. “Do you know where Bakura is?” Yugi blinked at him as the question sunk in, his scattered mind barely comprehending the abrupt change in subject.

“Bakura...?” He repeated in a weak tone. His mind was racing to put all of the pieces together. “Ryou!” He exclaimed after a moment, and then looked around helplessly, as if expecting the white haired slave to appear from thin air. _Where was Ryou?_ “You’re looking for Ryou...” Yugi muttered again when no one responded to his outburst.

“Yes and no,” a stern voice replied. This time it had been Seto who had spoken, and while the Pharaoh was still intensely focused Yugi with an unreadable expression the interruption didn’t seem unwelcome. “But it is very interesting that you got there so quickly,” Seto added. Yugi sat aching and huddled on the floor wishing the wall behind him would swallow him up entirely.

“I…” Yugi spluttered. “He said _neb-_ ” Yugi started but he couldn't bring himself to finish the filthy word as he looked around at Jounouchi. “That’s Ryou,” Yugi told them with as much conviction as he could muster. “Where is Ryou?” Yugi asked almost hysterically, although he knew he would receive no answer.

“Yugi,” The Pharaoh spoke again, and Yugi felt all the attention in the room immediately snap back towards the King. “Where is Ryou from?”

“I don’t know,” Yugi whispered, his voice cracking. It was true, he had no idea where Ryou was from or where he had been in the many, many seasons before Yugi had met him. He turned to look at the graying man standing quietly in the corner, and found he was not the only one focused now on Ahmet.

“I can’t see how it could be possible,” Ahmet told the room at large, his voice firm and even. “I know where you’re going with this, but Ryou was here even before I was.”

“It’s an almost unbelievable coincidence,” Seto spoke again, his tone heavy and almost weary.

“We would have noticed,” Ahmet continued, more insistently this time. “He’s too old, he would have been here when the city burned. If he had been from Kul Elna, Aknadin would have killed him first.” A somber silence followed Ahmet’s words, and even though Yugi didn’t understand the significance of the statement it seemed to appease the Priest’s line of questioning.

Suddenly, the previous pieces of the puzzle clicked for Yugi. “I told him about Bakura,” he blurted out. His heart seemed to skip a beat when all of the focus in the room turned back onto him. “I told Ryou the stories,” he continued, his words tumbling out.

The Pharaoh spoke again. “What do you know about Bakura?” He asked, his demeanor still unsoftened.

“Nothing,” Yugi insisted. “ _The Thief King Bakura_ right?” He continued, his voice sounding almost entirely maddened to his own ears. “That man who escaped, Ryou told me he and Isis were arguing about another King,” Yugi struggled to recall all of the details that had seemed like such trivial nothings at the time, his words coming out in a rush. “Then the other man with the red robe! I just told him the tall tales we used to share, but it doesn’t mean anything…” Yugi trailed off in a nervous surge.

“Isis and Marik?” Jounouchi interrupted, looking bewildered. “What is he getting at?”

The Pharaoh sighed, and for a second Yugi thought he looked incredibly tired. “Malik, I’m sure.”

“I thought Malik was dead,” Seto responded, as Yugi lost the thread of the conversation once again.

“He’s not,” The King replied solemnly, sheathing the long blade he had still been carrying. “Although she’s gone to great lengths to lead us to that conclusion.”

“It’s not real…” Yugi continued, muttering more to himself than anyone else in the room. “None of it is real, _The Thief King_ is just a bunch of village stories,” Yugi stopped, looking around almost pleadingly. “He’s not real.” He felt like everyone was looking at him, but no one was seeing him. Yugi felt tears start to prick at his eyes for the first time that night. “ _Where is Ryou?_ ” He asked again, his voice shaking. No one replied, and when Yugi turned to look directly at the Pharaoh the man remained silent but fixed Yugi with an uncharacteristically sad expression. Almost pitying. Yugi felt his heart clench as his stomach began to sink.

_Where was Ryou?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience as I struggled to write this chapter (characterization is hard yo!). Your kind words and support for this story have kept me going!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again, back for more!

Malik sat with his knee tucked up under his chin, twisting the hem of his skirt absentmindedly between his fingers as he watched the white haired boy’s unconscious chest slowly rise and fall where he lay. They had brought him up into the bedecked cavern Bakura occupied, and Malik had fetched every spare mat he could find in the camp and some of their nicest linens to put together his makeshift bunk. Bakura and Marik had spent most of the first night bickering about the whole thing, while Malik had warmed some water and done his best to scrub the dirt and stains from the nameless boy’s fevered skin.

“Is he going to be okay?” Malik asked, just as he had every few hours for the past two days. Malik heard Bakura sigh from the other side of the room, the sound of some parchment being discarded and the thief's infamous near silent footsteps. Malik leaned into the larger man as Bakura came to crouch next to him, watching the fitful sleep of the boy.

“I think so,” Bakura said quietly, although his voice didn’t convey much assurance to Malik.

“You’re lying to me,” Malik whispered, resting his head against Bakura’s firm shoulder.

“A little,” Bakura admitted as some of the tension seemed to sag out of his body.

“What’s wrong with him?” Malik asked, reaching out to run his own hand over the embroidered yellow blanket draped over the boy’s meager frame.

“I’m no healer,” Bakura muttered, shifting in his long red robe to sit properly.  “Fever, something ornery.”

Malik frowned. “Why was he down there?” He asked. “Why didn’t anyone help him?”

Bakura shrugged. “What would they have done? He’s a slave.”

“Don’t say that,” Malik murmured, unable to take his eyes off the boy. One of the slave's rawboned wrists had slipped from under the covers, hanging limp over the edge of the bunk. Malik continued to stare at the bony fingertips which had been stained dark by the polish they had found him covered in.

“He’s so skinny...” Malik whispered, his voice trailing off helplessly.

Bakura nodded, a little too forcefully. “We’ll get him to eat when he wakes up.” Malik frowned deeply, still twisting the hem of his skirt with both hands. He knew there was no guarantee the boy would survive. 

 

* * *

 

Seto leaned heavily on the railing outside the armory, his normally stark robes swirling in sand and soil. He had long since discarded most of his formal finery, and his dark hair blew freely as soldiers continued to hurry past them in the early morning light. They had ridden hard into the night, and a weight of fatigue lingered heavily throughout the grounds.  

“This has not gone well,” Seto finally spoke. The Pharaoh let out a short huff of a laugh from his own languid position next to the High Priest.

“No, not at all,” the King agreed, his heavy earrings clinking quietly as he shook his head. “I don’t begin to understand it,” he continued with an exasperated sigh.

“Ridiculous,” Seto continued, struggling to hide his own amusement under his trademark stoic expression. The weight of the past day starting to slide away with the absurdity of their failure.

“What should I do?” The Pharaoh asked, gazing out over the now empty training grounds in front of him.

“Hang Jou for starters,” Seto replied. The young King rolled his eyes in response but failed to control his snort all the same at the morbid jest.

“Be serious, Seto,” the Pharaoh countered, brushing his long yellow bangs out of his face. “We’re being made for fools.”

“We are fools for this,” Seto replied, shaking his head in all astonishment.

“Indeed, I fear we are,” the King murmured. He hung his tri-colored head from where he stood leaning up against the railing, but he could feel Seto’s eyes on him still.

“You know what he’s looking for,” Seto commented after a moment of stillness, as if the thought had just recently struck him. The Pharaoh didn’t reply immediately, but his silence seemed an affirmation. Eventually, the King tipped his head back, fixing Seto with a pair of weary wine-red eyes, his sovereign crown glinting where it sat in his tri-colored hair.

“I have considered many particular motives,” the Pharaoh finally admitted. “Although I do not pretend to know the man’s mind.”

“Will you not speak plainly on the subject?” The High Priest asked, his composure sobering rapidly.

“Of the most harrowing conclusions I am afraid I cannot," the King replied, his tone grim but his eyes sharp.

“Surely it is not something you intend to shoulder alone?” The Priest asked, his jovial mood forgotten. The Pharaoh smiled, but there was a sad edge to the expression that didn’t reach far beyond the turn of his mouth.

“No,” the King assured him. “Egypt deserves more than what I alone could offer.” Seto gave a noncommittal hum in reply.

“Your advisor spends too much time gossiping about you and that boy,” the Priest commented. The Pharaoh’s brow hitched ever so slightly at the sudden change in topic.

“You disapprove?” The King asked, though his tone was terse and he did not seem inclined to meet Seto’s gaze.

“I don’t know that I have an opinion,” Seto replied honestly.

“Seto, I’ve never yet known you to bring up a subject for which you possessed no opinion,” the Pharaoh countered, seeming to regain some of his confidence.

The Priest fixed his intimidating gaze on the King. “We imprisoned his master, you know,” he said.

“Who?” The Pharaoh asked, frowning.

“A grain merchant,” Seto replied. “From the Lower Kingdom. Tax crimes for the most part, amidst a number of other things.” The downturn of the King’s mouth seemed to deepen.

“Why are you telling me this?” The Pharaoh asked.

“Because it is not inconsequential, is it?” The Priest replied, although the King showed no signs of wishing to continue the conversation. He stepped away from the railing as Seto watched, sweeping back towards the barracks.

 

* * *

 

Yugi’s heart felt as though a heavy weight was trapped inside his own chest as he surveyed the meager chamber he and Ryou had shared for the months since Yugi had arrived at the palace. Although Ryou had spent so many years of his life in the King’s slavery his disappearance had left hardly a trace of him behind. Besides the small mat he had slept on and the paltry lamp he had shared with Yugi in the space, almost nothing remained of the boy. His few remaining items of cloth had been quickly divided among those who needed them most.

Yugi had not found the spirit within himself to go through the effort of lighting the lamp as they had always done, sitting instead under the cover of the darkness. Ryou had been right, with enough time Yugi found his eyes would adjust to the proper darkness that was to be found in the rooms underneath the palace.  The cold touch of the stone had long since seeped through Yugi’s skin, but he welcomed the distraction of the discomfort.

“ _I went to the House of the King._ ” Yugi whispered, quoting the notorious scripture to the empty room. “ _Clear the way for me so that I may reach him._ ” He felt a tear on his cheek, noticing for the first time that he had begun to cry. Although to Yugi, crying almost seemed like a misnomer. He had not yet found the right word to describe the hollowness he felt.

 

* * *

 

Ryou had heard voices, although they had been so distorted and distant. As if things were floating in and out around him. He had tried to move, but everything had felt so heavy. His mind seemed unable to recall where his limbs were located, or if he even possessed any at all. His thoughts seemed both real and oddly imagined, and they vanished as quickly as they crossed his mind.

When he finally woke, it was slow and painful. The world came back to him in a haze, dim and red. There was no mistaking his return to reality, as he was suddenly aware of the ache in every inch of his body. Still, he did not attempt to move. He had no idea how long he lay there, with his eyes shut, entrenched in the simple task of breathing. When he did finally open his eyes, it took more than a moment for his vision to clear. Ryou blinked slowly, realizing that he was staring at what must have been a stone ceiling. It was an unusual stone ceiling however, far more irregular and roughly shaped than any he was familiar with.

Ryou moved to rub at his face as his confusion grew, but was stopped by an abrupt lurch. His eyes dashed from the ceiling to the place where his arm had stopped mid-movement as a cold shock seized him. A rusted length of chain had been wrapped around his wrist, secured with some kind of clasp. More alarmingly, the length of the chain continued up from his bound arm to an iron eye bored into the wall of stone a few feet above where Ryou lay.

Even though his wrist already ached, Ryou attempted to wrench his arm free in a panic. His skin tore in protest but Ryou only pulled harder, with a bewildered sense of determination. He scrambled into a sitting position, ignoring the various failures of his shaking limbs. A small line of blood had already begun a slow trail down his chained arm, dripping onto the unfamiliar purple linen Ryou was wrapped in. Ryou tore his eyes away from his bound arm and looked around in alarm, his heart pounding a frantic beat in his ears.

Ryou jumped and let out an undignified noise when his gaze landed upon a figure watching him closely. He tried to scramble to his feet but his legs seemed to collapse underneath his attempt, leaving him sprawled on the mat he had woken on. The space they were in was dim and barely lit, but Ryou could make out a man sitting a short length from him. The man was seated on the floor but propped up against a wooden trunk as if he had been resting there for some time. Watching him with a set of unnervingly focused dark eyes. Ryou stared at the man, chest heaving. More alarming than the man was the fact that he recognized the familiar mop of stark white hair and the red fabric draped over him.

“ _Bakura—_ ” Ryou breathed, the tone in his voice indistinguishable from fear or delusion to his own ears. A look of genuine surprise seemed to pass over the man’s stony expression.

“Yes,” The man responded, his voice deep and ragged.

“Where am I?” Ryou asked quickly, his heart still pounding as his arm shook enough to rattle the chain. The man didn’t reply immediately. Instead Bakura cocked his head slightly and blinked slowly, the new angle casting the scar on his cheek into sharper relief in the light from a distant flame.

“Sorry about the chain,” Bakura spoke, his lips moving slowly around the words. Though his attention was fixed firmly on Ryou’s flushed face and he hadn’t so much as glanced at the aforementioned limb. Ryou didn’t respond, his free hand going to rub at the raw skin around the bound area as his mind raced. Bakura moved, rising from the floor slowly. Ryou tried to push himself backwards as the man moved towards him, but he had no where left to go. The other man paused his advance as Ryou tried to shrink away.

“Relax,” Bakura told him in his rough voice. “No one is going to hurt you.” Ryou glanced between his bleeding wrist and the man’s face in disbelief, but couldn’t summon the words to reply. “We were worried you would try to run off while we were out,” Bakura explained, continuing when the comment did little to ease Ryou’s obvious concern. “There’s not much out here. Nothing but days of desert in every direction. If you took off only the buzzards would be able to find your corpse.”

“I’m not a runaway,” Ryou snapped, putting on his best determined face. He was a slave, but he was certainly not a runaway.

“No, you’re not,” Bakura agreed. He crouched down next to Ryou, apparently choosing to ignore Ryou’s obvious discomfort. His long white hair hung down between them, and Ryou could finally identify the dark red color of his eyes. “Give me your arm,” the man said, holding his own out. Ryou eyed it as he weighed his options nervously, eventually conceding and shifting to accommodate the larger man.

Bakura had produced some kind of curved metal tool seemingly out of nowhere, and reached calmly for Ryou’s bound wrist. His hands were large and warm, and Ryou felt the rough callouses against his own skin with a hypersensitivity. If he shuddered slightly, he hoped it was concealed by the involuntary tremble his body continued to maintain. Bakura gently adjusted Ryou’s wrist between his hands, working the chain with a practiced ease. After a mere moment, it fell away without resistance, clattering against the stone wall.

It was instinct more than anything else that drove Ryou’s next move, launching himself forward as soon as he was freed. He didn’t know where he would have gone but it didn’t matter because Bakura proved to be much faster than he was, catching Ryou around the waist before he made it two steps. Ryou hissed and struck out at the man, but quickly became disoriented as his own weak legs buckled beneath him and they toppled onto the mat.

Ryou’s pounding head spun as Bakura rolled them, until he found himself above the man. Bakura had cushioned the fall, now sitting with his own back against the wall. Ryou flushed from his position straddling the man’s thick thighs, his own hands grasping at the Bakura’s firm grip around his waist. Ryou didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he gasped for air, his vision blurring around the edges. Bakura was grinning up at him, his long pointed canine teeth drawing Ryou’s eye.

“You’ve got a lot of fight for someone who almost died in this Gods-forsaken cave, kid,” Bakura laughed as Ryou struggled to free himself.

“Let me go!” Ryou hissed, although he was finding it harder to focus as his vision continued to blur.

“Easy,” Bakura hushed him, shifting his weight to sit up a little more. “Stay with me.” Ryou blinked slowly at the request, looking at the man but not seeing him. His body ached, and his limbs trembled with the fatigue that seized him. Ryou became aware of the brutal ache in his stomach that had nothing to do with Bakura’s hands that gripped him.

“I’m going to be sick,” Ryou whispered, his voice cracking as his empty stomach churned. He was still staring into the man’s face but registering nothing.

“We’ll get you something to eat,” Bakura told him, as he relaxed his tight hold on Ryou. “If you would be so kind as to stay put,” he added with a quirk of his lips. Ryou nodded in defeat.

“Alright,” Bakura said. He shifted, lifting Ryou up off his lap and encouraging him to move. Ryou collapsed onto the blankets, closing his eyes against the dizziness. He could hear footsteps, but he couldn’t summon the energy to pay much attention. By the time he heard voices he might have drifted off, but he couldn't be sure.

“He’s asleep,” someone whispered.

“Obviously,” Bakura’s voice growled. With a great effort Ryou opened his eyes slowly and blinked. There were two people now crouched near him. His eyes were drawn to the expected form of Bakura first, who was now holding a chamberstick with a low burning flame that was causing Ryou’s unadjusted eyes to water slightly as it danced. Next to him hovered a smaller blonde balancing a wooden tray who was both intensely familiar… and not at all.

“I’m awake,” Ryou croaked, licking at his severely chapped lips as he propped himself up on shaky arms.  

“We were so worried about you!” The blonde gushed, unnerving Ryou a little as he flashed a smile and a set of perfect white teeth. “You’ve been out for days,” he continued.

“I’m sorry,” Ryou whispered as he finally reached a sitting position, tucking one of his legs underneath him.

“Don’t apologize—” Bakura cut in rather sharply.

“Nevermind him,” The blonde interrupted. Ryou could see that he was cloaked in many lengths of the same linen he himself was dressed in, a light purple affair. He had a shock of blonde hair, although it was not quite as dramatic as the other man he had first mistaken him for. “I’m Malik,” the blonde continued.

“Uh,” Ryou stumbled over his own tongue. “Ryou,” he finally answered, looking anywhere except at the two other men in the room. Unfortunately, nothing of use was really discernable in the dim flickering light from the candle Bakura held. “Where am I?” Ryou asked, pushing his wildly tangled hair out of his face.

Bakura answered before Malik could. “A long way from the palace,” he said.

“I can see that,” Ryou lied, still glancing around the dark cave-like space they seemed to be in.

“Surely you must be hungry,” Malik cut in, lifting the tray from his lap and offering it to Ryou. Ryou took it from his hesitantly, embarrassed as the slight tremor of his hands caused the unfamiliar china to dance and rattle on the tray. Ryou set the offering down gently in front of him on top of the thick blankets.

“You probably shouldn’t eat anything heavy at first,” Malik told him as Ryou surveyed the contents of the tray. “But I can get you something more if you’d like,” he offered. There was a large bowl of broth with small chunks of vegetables and a white meat, a dish of some root Ryou didn't recognize, and several large chunks of bread.

“I…” Ryou paused, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” he told them quietly.  Malik beamed, nudging Bakura next to him. Bakura scowled.

Ryou picked up the bowl of broth and marveled momentarily at the exquisite china unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was a delicate white bowl, with intricate blue designs painted across the surface. Ryou had seen plenty of fine dishware in his days serving the palace but this was something else entirely. Certainly not of Egypt.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you where it came from,” Bakura commented, having noticed Ryou’s interest. Ryou lowered the bowl in embarrassment, focusing on the enticing smelling broth. He sipped slowly but gratefully, the savory liquid soothing his parched throat. It was uncomfortable to eat with the two men watching him, but the pang of his empty stomach was too much to ignore. Ryou chewed a small piece of bread slowly as he pondered.

“What’s wrong with me?” Ryou asked, looking between the two strangers. The boy named Malik had some of his hair tied up, revealing large gold rings through his ears and the bands around his long neck. His face was painted with kohl and he held himself well while Bakura’s larger frame slouched.

Bakura shrugged. “Yellow fever, perhaps,” he shifted and the glint of one of the gold bands wrapped around his ankle caught Ryou’s eye. “You were unconscious when we found you.” Ryou blinked as the memory became clearer to him.

“In the dungeon…” Ryou whispered, looking down at the tell-tale dark stain of the polish on his fingertips and under his nails. “You took me from the palace?” Ryou asked. He fixed his attention on the two men but Malik had averted his gaze, looking pointedly at the larger white-haired man. Bakura frowned, drawing his dark eyes to Ryou with an unreadable expression.

“I didn’t want you to die,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Yugi turned the pot he was attending to over, raising the worn bristles of the brush he held to a dark burn marring the hammered surface. He scrubbed hard, but found his effort produced little change in the blemish. His arms were tired and his fingers pruned but he hardly noticed. The dishwater in the basin was tinged an unpleasant color from the many kettles and pans that had come before. It had been days since Ryou had vanished, and although the work was monotonous he was grateful for the minor distraction it provided from his own thoughts and the length of each day.

Yugi hiked up the sleeve on his robe, drawing the back of his wet hand across his forehead. Despite the effort his unruly bangs fell back into his vision almost immediately. Yugi sighed in frustration but stilled his movements when he heard someone clear their throat near the large table behind him. Yugi glanced towards the disturbance and then doubled back when he noticed the figure.

The King stood reclined against the heavy wooden table, his arms crossed casually over his chest. How he had managed to materialize out of thin air, Yugi didn’t know. He looked different in the days since Yugi had last been near him. His signature lavish attire was now obscured by a long tan traveling cloak wrapped around him, and there were dark rings under his eyes. His unruly hair seemed slightly more askew. Yugi stared for a moment in genuine disbelief before bending to the best formal bow he could perform while his garments were half soaked with dishwater.

“Your Highness,” Yugi said, eyes still respectfully downcast. “Forgive me, I did not hear your entry,” he continued. The King gave an uncharacteristic shrug, unperturbed. “Are you in need of anything?” Yugi asked, wringing his hands on his dirty apron. The Pharaoh didn’t say anything, but raised a golden finger to his lips in a request for silence as practiced footsteps marched past the doorway in the hall outside. Yugi bit his tongue as the patrol faded into the distance.

The King bent down, one hand gripping the edge of the table as he lowered himself onto the unswept floor. He sat in the space between the table and the stone basin Yugi attended, one leg tucked up against himself and the other extended out. Even his sandals were embellished with elegant gold details. The man patted the floor next to him, gesturing for Yugi to join him. Yugi stared rather stupidly, perplexed by the incalculable ruler and the daft notion that the man would choose to seat himself here in the washroom.

“No?” The Pharaoh asked after a moment, reclining his head back against the leg of the table with a small smile. “Suit yourself,” he continued with another nonchalant shrug.

“Sir!” Yugi’s attempt at a whisper cracking. “You need not be on the floor!”

“And yet, here I am,” The King murmured, sobering slightly. “Sit,” He ordered with a half-hearted flourish of his banded wrist.

Yugi seated himself quickly at the request, settling down with his back against the basin behind him. He supposed there was no practiced protocol for sitting on a dirty floor with the ruler of kingdoms. Yugi tucked his legs underneath him and smoothed down the front of his linens with self concious hands. His eyes lingered on a few ugly bruises that decorated his own skinny legs. He finally settled his hands in his lap, and waited. The distant dripping of unattended wash water above them marked the length of time before the Pharaoh spoke again.

“What did your friend look like?” The King asked him, and Yugi could sense the other man’s gaze on him even though Yugi was still staring intently at his own shins. He didn’t need to ask who the Pharaoh was alluding to. Yugi’s thoughts had been filled with little else lately.

“White hair,” Yugi said quietly, his heart sinking in his chest. It was a laughable understatement to describe the boy.

“He never told you where he had come from? Where he was born?” The King asked. Yugi looked up at him, his insides performing the now familiar lurch when they made eye contact. A hot feeling settled deep inside him as he shuffled under the heavy gaze partially obscured by a loose crop of yellow bangs.

“You and your men asked me,” Yugi reminded him. “He never told me, never told anyone where he was bought as far as I can tell.” As if he had been expecting such a response, the Pharoah’s expression remained even as Yugi eyed him nervously.

“You thought he didn’t know,” the King said. Yugi nodded a little too forcefully in response.

“It isn’t uncommon for enslaved children,” Yugi added. The Pharaoh tilted his head slightly as if in thought, and Yugi had the distinct feeling that he was being lead too easily.

“He saw men in the dungeons,” the King stated.

“Yes,” Yugi responded, wondering why he was being probed for knowledge the Pharaoh certainly already possessed. “He told me about that. We thought it might have been something… c _hildish..._ ” Yugi trailed off.

The Pharaoh smiled, and this time it looked almost genuine. “You can say it,” he prompted.

“Well…” Yugi stumbled, embarrassed. “ _The Thief King_ , but that’s ridiculous,” Yugi felt his face heating slightly at the tall tales he had gossiped about so freely only so many weeks before. The Pharaoh sighed, and some of the composure seemed to melt away from his regal aura. Seeping away where they sat on a filthy washroom floor under the palace.

“You are not wrong,” the King told him, looking down at his own hands and the priceless jewels that adorned his long fingers. “His name is Bakura, and I owe him a debt that cannot ever be repaid,” The other man continued, looking back up at Yugi again. Yugi only blinked in response, his thoughts leaping to connect the dots.

“I don’t understand,” Yugi whispered. The Pharaoh was watching him with a solemn intensity, the kind of look that Yugi couldn’t quite meet.

“You were quite fond Ryou, weren’t you?” The King asked. Yugi gave a small nod. He still couldn’t make eye contact with the man and so he found himself watching the glint reflect off one of the long gold earrings that dangled from the Pharoah’s ear and hung in his tri-colored hair instead. The young ruler had an entire line of piercings that trailed up the shell of his ear, a marvelous display of jewelry. Yugi imagined they must have been painful, but it was entrancingly beautiful.

“I was,” Yugi finally replied when he realized the King was waiting for his response. “He was different… but unusually kind.”

“You have not known an excess of kindness in your lifetime,” the Pharaoh guessed. Yugi’s voice seemed to get stuck in his throat and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I don't know,” He responded quietly.

“Your friend… _Nebusemekh_?” The King asked. Yugi sucked in a small breath at the word, looking back at the other man suddenly. The Pharaoh stared back at him, his expression still calm and unmoved.

“Don’t say that,” Yugi whispered. The King’s face softened slightly, some of the stature dissolving. Not for the first time, Yugi wondered how old Egypt’s ruler could possibly be.

“Do you know where that term comes from?” The Pharaoh asked him, a sad sort of melancholy settling on his face. Yugi shook his head. “I cannot be certain…” the King continued after a pause. “But I do believe it all began in a place named Kul Elna,” he broke off, a shadow crossing over his visage. Yugi sat up straighter, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Kul Elna?” Yugi asked. The name meant nothing to him.

“You won’t have heard of it,” the Pharaoh told him. He was still watching Yugi with unnerving intensity, even if his mood had seemed to darken. “It was more than a few days journey from here. But it no longer exists.”

“What happened to Kul Elna?” Yugi asked. The King broke their eye contract abruptly, looking away. Yugi watched as he stared at something that wasn’t there, steeling himself. When he turned back to Yugi, there was a new expression on his face. Something raw and liable Yugi had never seen before. The Pharaoh shifted himself, rearranging his long limbs in the cramped space on the floor between the heavy table and the basin.

“A horror, Yugi,” The Pharaoh whispered. A long silence settled into the space, the King’s eyes unfocused and lost in thought far removed from the crown perched on his head. “Kul Elna was a small village,” he finally continued in a voice that was quiet but firm. He seemed to be choosing each word with careful heed. “Mostly, I believe it was settled by immigrants. Slaves really. People brought in from northern lands. Lost or escaped. Tomb builders, discarded servants, runaways, even fugitives.”

“Were they not Egyptians?” Yugi asked, not having met many foreign slaves or servants in his short life.

“After generations here, as Egyptian as you or I,” ghe Pharaoh told him. “Impoverished to be sure,” the King’s mouth upturned in the smallest of smiles. “A few who were undoubtedly thieves. A kind of haven we can suppose, for those on the edge of our kingdom.”

“That does not sound so abhorrent,” Yugi said.

The Pharaoh let out a long breath. “I never laid eyes on the place myself,” he admitted. “I fear I cannot do it the justice it is due.”

“Of what importance are the people of Kul Elna?” Yugi asked, genuine curiosity starting to get the better of him and his manners.

“At present, their appearance,” The King replied. The man raised one of his adorned hands to his face, running a large gold ring along the length of his jawline.

“How so?” Yugi asked, unwittingly finding himself leaning forward into the exchange as his own hands fell away from where they had been clasped over his knees. His still-damp knuckles grazing the ground.

“I have told you, have I not?” The Pharaoh smiled slyly. “People whose ancestors came from the Great North,” he paused, as if waiting for Yugi. “People we do not see much of in Egypt anymore.”

“Pale,” Yugi murmured. “White hair, like Ryou…” he trailed off. The King’s countenance slipped into a true smile, although it was a restrained one. Egypt’s ruler nodded, running his thumb over his bottom lip. “What happened to Kul Elna?” Yugi asked quietly. The light in the young Pharaoh’s expression shuttered immediately. Replaced with a sullen gravity that seemed to age him on the spot. The King looked away from Yugi and into the nothingness of the sparse room.

“My father…” the Pharoah paused, composing himself. He turned his gaze back abruptly to Yugi, an uncontrolled number of expressions flitting across his face. “My father killed everyone in Kul Elna,” Yugi stared at him, the statement tumbling through his thoughts. _Killed everyone?_ The pharaohs were Egypt’s most prized possession, a perfect bloodline of beauty and bravery destined to protect their nation’s bounty. Yugi reeled, the King’s words now echoing at the forefront of his mind. “Well, almost everyone,” the King corrected himself, ignoring Yugi’s shock.

“Why?” Yugi asked quietly, with an unnerving fear that he was treading into dangerous waters. A dark sadness had settled over the Pharaoh’s face.

“Chasing a true evil,” he murmured. “I can hardly speak of it,” the King said, looking down at his own hands again. It was an undignified look for such a man, and Yugi longed for something else.

“Who survived?” Yugi asked, reaching to change the subject.

“A young boy named Bakura,” the Pharaoh replied, still focused on his own fingers splayed over his lap. “That’s the tale, anyway.”

“ _The Thief King_ ,” Yugi whispered.

The Pharaoh let out of a small huff. “You wound my ego, Yugi,” he teased, looking up at Yugi from underneath the striking hair that fell over his face. Yugi’s insides twisted a little as his pulse stuttered.

“Forgive me!” Yugi flushed. “I did not mean it so, it’s what they call him…” he trailed off, pink in the face.

“I know,” the King forced a small smile. “It is not entirely undeserved,” he admitted. “He possesses some notable talents.”

“I don’t understand,” Yugi said quietly. “What does he want?”

The Pharaoh shrugged. “To kill me I presume. Once he has accomplished the rest of the vengeance he seeks.”

“What has he done?” Yugi asked, a cold fear beginning to settle in his heart. _Who could have the power to challenge Egypt’s King?_

The Pharaoh held out his hand, and Yugi stared at it for a moment before he understood. Yugi reached out, tentatively placing his own palm above the King’s. The Pharaoh wrapped his skilled fingers around Yugi’s limp hand, the gold bands and strong grip of a King sliding against Yugi’s skin. “You are peculiarly small,” He noted, echoing their first conversation.

“Yes,” Yugi agreed, his mouth dry. The Pharaoh ran his thumb over the top of Yugi’s hand, which was all that Yugi could focus on.

“Do you know why we never visit my father’s tomb for the traditional ceremonies?” He asked.

Yugi shook his head. “No,” he said. Yugi had never even considered the subject. Egypt’s King was bound to an endless number of rituals and ceremonies to honor the Gods and ancestors. Most of the royal temples were secret, and their practices held far from the eyes of servants.

The Pharaoh gently turned Yugi’s hand over in his grip. “It’s empty,” he said.

Yugi’s mouth fell open. “What?” He gasped. _Empty?_

“Not even the slightest decoration remains,” the King told him in a flat voice. “He took everything. Chiseled the inscriptions from the walls,” Yugi’s hand gripped at the Pharaoh’s fingers.

“Even…?” Yugi whispered, making no attempt to conceal his horror. The King nodded, his lips flattened into a thin line.

“I suppose there was some other burial he found more fitting for my father,” the Pharaoh said. Yugi barely noticed how hard he was squeezing the man’s hand. To desecrate a sarcophagus was unheard of, an unspeakable crime. Ruining another being’s chance of ever reaching the next life.

“How could someone do such a thing?” Yugi asked, his voice hitching. _Who could commit such an act? Who could have so little respect for the Gods and the order of Egypt?_

“One of the most elaborate and protected tombs ever built in the valley,” the King told him, returning the tight grip Yugi had on his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Yugi whispered. There were no other words to express the anguish he felt for the man.

“My father wronged his people deeply,” the Pharaoh continued, the monotone of his voice concealing whatever he felt from Yugi.

“That is no excuse!” Yugi exclaimed. “To violate the Gods in such a manner…” the King shrugged, but didn’t relinquish his trembling grip on Yugi’s hand. How long they sat in silence after that Yugi didn’t know.

“Why did he take Ryou?” Yugi asked when he could bear the silence no longer, and when the Pharaoh’s touch was firm and even again.

The King looked Yugi in the face, an ineffable depth behind his dark eyes. Emotion lingered there, but it was well disciplined by a man raised to rule nations. “That I do not understand,” he admitted. “But we will find him,” he assured Yugi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed these lines from an internet translation of the Book of the Dead: “I went to the House of the King. Clear the way for me so that I may reach him.” 
> 
> As always, thank you all for your kind words and your support that keeps me writing! I love hearing from you.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Apologies for the delay, moving took over my life between the last chapter and this one. As usual, I've decided to post it now instead of waiting for a few more rounds of proofreading so let's just all agree to ignore any typos. Deal?

When Ryou woke again it seemed to be night once more although he was sure he had slept on and off for more than a day or two. The room was dim, save for a a few low candles left to burn themselves out. A calm silence fit the still air. Ryou sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he surveyed the space. He didn’t quite know if he was relieved or nervous that he appeared to be alone.

Ryou adjusted the lavender robe that was slipping slowly off his shoulder, pulling the ill-fitting garment up. The boy named Malik had been kind enough to lend it to him, since Ryou was without much of his own. Ryou wasn’t sure what to make of the young blonde, who was unflinchingly pleasant in contrast to the other brooding man. After Ryou had regained himself enough, Malik had helped him clean up and brought him fresh clothing. He talked a lot, like Yugi had, which made something in Ryou’s chest twist when he thought about it too much.

Ryou slipped out from underneath the covers, his bare feet meeting the cool stone of the uneven floor. He stretched slowly, wincing as some of his long-unused joints cracked. He took a few hobbling steps forward, stopping momentarily to enjoy the feeling of an unusual rug laid out in the center of the room. He examined a pattern of unfamiliar flowers woven around his own toes as he flexed them. He breathed deeply, relaxing considerably when he could do so without the coughing fit he had been subjected to for days. He ran his hands through his thick hair, pleased to find that it still remained mostly untangled since Malik had helped him comb it out.

Ryou squinted at the heavy canvas curtains that seemed to serve as the entrance to the room he currently inhabited, noticing the faint light that filtered through around the seams. He crossed the room slowly, nervously fingering the makeshift doorway. He hardly knew what to expect on the other side, though he gently pulled back an edge of the material anyway. Ryou blinked at what he realized was the early morning sun just beginning to breach over the distant horizon. Ryou took a deep breath, the cool air of the desert morning brisk in his lungs.

Bakura had been right. There was almost nothing on the skyline as far as Ryou could see. He realized that he was currently standing in what was less of a room and more of a carefully purposed cave carved into a steep cliffside. A narrow set of steps set into the natural rock descended a handful of feet from the ledge where Ryou stood down to the sand below. Directly below the ledge a small cluster of white tents stood out in the sheltered oasis that seemed to exist in the shadow of the large rock outcropping. Beyond the assortment of palms that dotted the shoreline of a small pool, the desert rose and fell in soft dunes for endless miles. It was… remarkable.

Ryou stepped out from behind the canvas and into the dawn. The cool air moved around him, grazing his skin where his shenti hung loose. He gathered his wits about him, taking the first few tentative steps down the staircase. The well worn stone was smooth underfoot. He realized quickly that he had been sleeping in one of a number of caverns that were set into the rock face. Ryou quickly readjusted his attention, keeping a nervous eye on the tents below as he searched for a glimpse of someone watching him. Despite his concern, the camp was still and undisturbed.

It wasn’t until he stepped off the bottom of the steps and into the soft sand that he heard voices. A set of heavy tones came from the nearest tent, sharp though they seemed to be making an attempt to keep quiet. Ryou was drawn to the tent’s entrance, his footsteps careful and silent in the uneven sand. He paused when a deep voice became clear.

“What in the name of the Gods are we supposed to do with him?” A man snarled, sending a chill through Ryou. “What exactly did you expect to gain here?” Ryou inched forward slowly, until he stood just to the side of the entrance and could catch the slightest glimpse of the two men in the tent through an open fold. A man with a shock of blonde hair sat with his arms crossed, familiar to Ryou although it felt like an eternity had passed since their first meeting. He could not see Bakura from where he stood, but he could hear him.

“Quit seeking a cause where there is none,” Bakura hissed.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Marik snapped. “Kid might as well have Kul Elna scribed across his forehead.” A loud slamming noise startled Ryou.

“Fuck you Marik,” Bakura ground out. His voice opening what felt like an uneasy chasm inside Ryou.

“Not even you can steal some boy out of a dungeon like that and expect it to be okay,” Marik said, his face dark and unmoving.

“I’ll just leave you next time, then.” Bakura countered, his voice surprisingly even.

“Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?” Marik responded, uncrossing his arms. The thick gold bands that encased his arms glinting.

“I’m not from a dungeon,” Ryou said quietly. He almost surprised himself as he spoke, pulling back the entrance just far enough to step through. Marik swore, standing up abruptly.

“You knew he was there!” Marik snapped at Bakura, who had hardly moved at Ryou’s appearance and was leaning against a large beam that seemed to be supporting the vaulted ceiling of the tent. Bakura shrugged, although Ryou could have sworn the edge of his mouth twitched. Ryou rubbed at his bare arm, his own discomfort growing.

“I’ve served in the palace my whole life,” Ryou said. He wasn’t really addressing either of them, though his words were thick. “I am not helpless.”

Marik sighed, lowering himself into his seat again. He tossed a length of blonde bang out of his face. “Look kid,” he began addressing Ryou in a heavy tone. “I am glad you did not die,” he continued. “But this is perhaps not the freedom you might think it is.” Ryou stared at him, breathing uneven but refusing to break eye contact. Marik stared back, his dark violet eyes stark in comparison to his white robes. “Bakura doesn’t always think before he acts,” he concluded. Bakura rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not afraid,” Ryou said quietly.

“You should be,” Marik replied. His expression had changed, the frustration giving way to something deeper. Ryou turned and walked out of the tent, his heartbeat catching somewhere in his throat. The sun was still barely rising and Ryou strode towards it, passing the other silent tents and various adornments of a camp and only stopping after several minutes when he reached the last palm on the edge of the sheltered oasis.

He dropped himself at the base of the tree, clenching his jaw as he pulled his knees up to his chest and dug his toes into the sand. He stared out over the horizon, at the dips and swells of endless sand dunes that stretched until they blurred to the edge of his vision. There was no marker, no sense of direction that could have told Ryou where he had come from.

_How far were they from the palace out here?_ Did it matter?

He sensed more than he heard or saw Bakura approach him, hardly surprised that he had been followed. Bakura slowly lowered himself to sit in the sand near Ryou. His long red robe pooled over the sand, ominous in color as he leaned back on his arms. Though they were separated by inches, Ryou could feel the warmth coming off the man.

“You will have to forgive Marik,” Bakura said. His voice was calm and unbothered, as if they were merely discussing the weather or the harvest.

“He did not know I was there,” Ryou responded quietly. “He was speaking his truth.” He wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

“His concern is not invalid,” Bakura told him. “But it is misplaced.” _Misplaced?_ A word that was quickly coming to define Ryou’s existence much faster than he was prepared for. He released the grip he held around his knees, letting his feet slide deeper into the sand.

“I don’t pretend to understand,” Ryou admitted. “What purpose do I serve to you?” Ryou asked, although he did not turn and face the man. The breeze stirred up little bits of sand around them.  His gaze drawn a little too long to the pair of sculpted legs sprawled out near his own small feet.

Bakura ignored his question, choosing instead to counter with one of his own. “How did you know who I was?” He asked. Ryou looked at him, wary see that the man had undoubtedly noticed his attention.

“I didn’t,” Ryou said quietly. “Not really, anyway.” He paused. “There were shadow stories about a King of Thieves we told children in the palace, but they were so different with each year. Yugi was the one who knew of a real man,” he said as he examined Bakura. He had his long white hair pulled back, revealing the large scar under his eye. “He told tales. Made out you were something of a legend.”

Bakura raised his eyebrow, though he didn’t seem particularly surprised. “Yugi?” He asked.

Ryou nodded. “A slave,” he said. “Arrived a few seasons ago.” Ryou began examining his own nails. “Kind.”

“What tales did this Yugi tell?” Bakura asked, fingering something tucked inside his robe that Ryou couldn’t see.

“Something about serpent eyes, games of fate and great risk.” Ryou shrugged. He couldn’t bring himself to mention the murder of the fabled man’s family. He fixed Bakura with a brave look he didn’t quite feel all the way through. “Who are you, really?” He asked. “Why were you in the palace?”

Bakura blinked at him, and although he did his best to remain nonchalant Ryou could see his thoughts turning over rapidly behind the facade. “Perhaps the truth is often less believable than the tales that are spun,” he admitted after some time. Ryou felt his face fall. “You shouldn’t be out here for too long,” Bakura told him. The larger man shifted himself as though he intended to stand but stopped short. “You’ve been quite ill.”

“I’m fine.” Ryou insisted, uncomfortable with the attention and the deflection of his question.

“Mmm,” Bakura hummed. Seemingly unconvinced as he reached for Ryou’s chin. He grasped it gently as he tilted Ryou’s face to the side and inspected him. Ryou shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the man’s dark red eyes, but didn’t pull away. “How’s your head?” Bakura asked.

“My head?” Ryou repeated, confused.

“You hit it pretty hard when we first met,” Bakura said, still looking him over. Ryou felt his face go pink as he recalled their first physical encounter. Bakura released him slowly.

“You threw me into a wall,” Ryou responded dryly. He remembered the event very well. The way Bakura had held him up against the wall with such ease… Bakura had the decency to look a little sheepish, and Ryou was glad his thoughts were his own.

“An apology is likely owed for that,” Bakura admitted with a small smile. Ryou shrugged.

“It may have taken days till I was missed in that storeroom.” Ryou replied, resigned.

“Even, then?” Bakura asked. Ryou eyed him incredulously.

“What will you do with me now?” Ryou asked, derailing the sentiment.

“What do you want to do?” Bakura asked him as he sobered into seriousness. Ryou stared at him for a long moment before biting his tongue and looking away. _I don’t know_ , Ryou thought silently to himself.

 

* * *

 

“Miss!” Yugi called out, hurrying towards an unfamiliar slave who was struggling to carry a large number of woven baskets. “Let me help you,” Yugi insisted. He grasped two of the baskets and pulled them from her pile, finding her relieved and flushed in the face underneath. Yugi heaved the heavy baskets full of fresh white linen up on his own shoulders, smiling at her as she did.

“Thank you,” she whispered looking a little flustered. “We are all in such an uproar!” She let out in a rush. Yugi nodded, intimately familiar with the current state of the palace. “All of these need to be pressed,” she continued. “Will you be so kind to carry them down?”

Yugi nodded. “Of course,” he replied, falling in with her hurried steps.

“We are using two of the great rooms to press the linens,” she told him as they moved away from the usual route Yugi had expected to take.

“The great rooms?” Yugi asked, surprised. He had not yet known the palace to welcome slaves to work in such spaces in the main halls.

“Only while the King is gone,” she added hastily as they rounded a corner. “We are in the greatest rush!”

“The King is gone?” Yugi asked, unable to stop himself. The girl nodded as she rearranged her baskets with a wince.

“Left with his best men days ago,” she told him. Yugi didn’t press her further as she seemed winded enough. She thanked him endlessly when they reached their destination before Yugi hurried off back to his previous duties before he was missed.

“There’s no hope for it, Yugi,” Ahmet sighed hours later, dropping another box of tarnished candelabras unceremoniously onto the table. Yugi smiled, although he too was weary.

“Do not fret,” Yugi told him. “Progress is being made.” Ahmet rubbed at his short gray beard and spit unceremoniously onto the ground, his sour demeanor unchanged.

“It’s been too long since the palace held an event like this.” Ahmet scoffed, picking up one of the delicate pieces and frowning at it. “Everything is lost, nothing has been done properly, and I have half the hands I need!” Ahmet growled, casting the object back into the bin with distaste. They didn't speak of Ryou, who likely would have held much of the knowledge Ahmet now considered misplaced. Yugi knew that Ahmet had known the boy a lot longer than he himself had, but the man had yet to broach the subject. Yugi could not determine if it was because he didn’t care, or that he cared too much. Slavery was an unkind and brutal business, and he supposed both were equally probable.

Yugi chose not to respond again. The weight the upcoming visit of a dignitary’s family and the lavish ceremonies it required were placing a heavy toll on them all. There did not seem to be enough hours in the day. He hardly noticed when one of the serving boys entered the room, eyeing the contents of workroom uneasily in his finer garments. His meticulously braided dark hair cascading below his waist.

“What?” Ahmet barked, drawing the attention of Yugi and the unfamiliar boy. The boy smiled in response to Ahmet’s rude greeting, but it was cold and his slight sneer expressed no respect for the man.

“Sir, Sugoroku requests the honor…” he paused at the word as if it displeased him. “Of a round with slave named Yugi,” he finished with the smallest bow he was able to manage.

“Has he gone mad?” Ahmet asked, throwing his hands up in the air. The boy did not respond, though he seemed to have some difficulty maintaining his polite expression. “It’s the middle of the damn night!” Ahmet scoffed. Yugi exchanged rapid glances between the boy and his own master, unsure how angry Ahmet really was. “Old loon,” the man muttered under his breath. The boy said no more but gave another one of his forced smiles and a small bow before he retreated back through the doorway, eager to be gone.

“Sir?” Yugi asked, unsure what to make of the request. Ahmet was now standing with his eyes shut as he maintained a firm grip on the pinch of his nose. Sugoroku had never called for him so late before. Yugi had been seeing less and less of the man in the past few weeks. He had merely assumed that the aging advisor had grown bored of Yugi’s company.

Ahmet waved him off. “Go,” he sighed. “But I will have words with the man about this matter.” He insisted, even though they both knew that he would do no such thing.

Yugi nodded and thanked him quietly, fixing the front of his robe the best he could as he hurried out of the room and up one of the large staircases that lead to the palace above. He had long since memorized the journey to Sugoroku’s chambers, but the short walk seemed much more ominous in the dark. The palaces many candles and torches had been extinguished, with most of the residents safely tucked into bed. Yugi’s confusion at the summons grew.  

When Yugi reached the adviser’s chambers a few halls over, a single guard stood watch over the open entryway. Yugi half-hoped that he would be denied entrance at such an hour, but the armored man let him pass by without incident.

It was only as he rounded the corner in the entryway towards the sitting room that held Sugoroku’s beautiful carved senet table, that Yugi heard voices. Someone was laughing. Though it was uneven and sounded slightly staggered, the sound was unmistakable. Yugi’s confusion grew even further as he pulled back the final curtain and stepped quietly into the room, eyes widening at the sight. There was indeed a game of senet already taking place, with Sugoroku sitting patiently on his usual side of the board. Sugoroku’s opponent sat across from him, the familiar figure of the man impossible to mistake.

“Sir,” Yugi spoke quietly when Sugoroku appeared not to have noticed his entrance. Yugi had been about to give the proper bow required for the two members of the royal family but the sound of his voice seemed to have startled the advisor’s opponent, who turned so quickly that he lost his grip on the edge of the table. Egypt’s young King just barely caught himself on the corner of the surface, sending several game pieces skittering across the top of the board and knocking a glass bottle onto the rug with a clatter. Yugi stared at the genuine look of surprise on the man’s face that seemed as startled as he was that his renown grace had so suddenly deserted him.

“Perhaps…” The Pharaoh’s speech stretched in a poorly concealed slur, slowly raising himself back to a proper sitting position. “Too much wine....” He was flushed in the face, either from embarrassment or drink Yugi couldn’t tell.

“Remarkable,” Sugoroku commented not unkindly but with a vague disinterest in the revelation. Yugi was still staring. The fact that the King had apparently worked his way through the discarded bottles of drink now on the floor was somehow less surprising than the state of man and his clothing. It was clear the man had been out of the palace for some time, as there were few words to describe his riding cloak and appearance beyond the dirt and grime that marred it. Yugi’s gaze was drawn most alarmingly to the fact that the man was clearly injured, a dark trail of blood dripping down the part of his calf that was exposed.

“Sir…” Yugi repeated, at a loss for what else to say. Sugoroku turned to Yugi and smiled, all politeness. All at ease.

“Good evening, Yugi,” he said.

The Pharaoh snorted. “The evening has long passed,” he observed. Then he looked around the room in apparent recognition of the time. “Gods Sugoroku, what possesses you to have servants fetched from their beds at this hour?” Something deep inside Yugi twisted a little at the improper title the King used for his position.

“I was not asleep,” Yugi assured them with a quick bow. A small frown tugged at Sugoroku’s lips and Yugi wondered if he should not have spoken. However Sugoroku’s attention was diverted as the Pharaoh raised the bottle he was still holding to his lips and drained what was left, causing the graying adviser to fold his hands in this lap with a pointed look downward. The King placed the empty bottle back onto the table with a little too much force.

“Who is to play?” The Pharaoh asked, unperturbed as he returned his focus to the scattered game pieces.

“No one,” Sugoroku replied dryly, gesturing at the board. “You haven’t dealt a fair move in four rounds.” The King frowned, seemingly affronted as he continued to stare at the displaced pieces that could offer no useful information.

“That sounds about right,” the Pharaoh muttered. Yugi himself was doing his best to subtly observe the board from his position just inside the entryway, but he was at too great a distance and couldn’t make out much of where their match had stood.

“Yugi...” Sugoroku began, all patience and smiles. “Since our game appears to have come to a conclusion, I was hoping you might be kind enough to lend my nephew a hand in assistance.” Yugi blinked. _Sugoroku was the Pharaoh’s uncle?_

“Is that was this is about?” The King asked, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the older man.

“You’ve run foul,” Sugoroku told him with a slight stiffness of disapproval as he rose from his seat. “I can’t imagine the last time you slept, you’ve kept an old man from his own bed, and most of all you have bled on my priceless rug gifted by the Nubian court.”

The Pharaoh rolled his eyes. “Hang the rug, Sugoroku!” His voice hitched in spite of the condemnation. He turned to Yugi, his opulent jewelry clinking as it swayed. Part of his dark kohl had been smeared, and something that was likely long-dried blood stained his throat. “See how he torments me?” The King asked him, something playful about his remarkable features. “He’d sell me to an army of pillagers for fine craftsmanship.”

Sugoroku brushed his hands over the front of his delicately embroidered robes, looking down at his nephew. “My dear boy,” he began. “Until the day in which Egypt falls we will continue to devote ourselves to my rugs as if we intend to survive.” The Pharaoh laughed, and it was a brilliant sound. A deep sound that felt as though it echoed in Yugi’s own chest. The King braced himself as he stood, faltering visibly as he went to but weight on his injured leg.

“Your Highness!” Yugi insisted, rushing forward from where he had been standing still slightly dumbstruck to assist the man. He didn’t dare touch the Pharaoh but he offered his arm to the man. The King didn’t accept the offered limb, but did grasp Yugi’s shoulder to steady himself. His long fingers gripping firmly as Yugi watched a grimace pass over his face. When it passed, he released his hold, slowly steadying himself upright.

“Shall we, then?” The young Pharaoh asked him, although his tone was tight and clipped. He didn’t wait for Yugi to respond but turned directly to his advisor. “Sugoroku, I am afraid we must take leave of you.” The old man rolled his eyes, shooing them away with a flick of his wrist.

“Begone,” Sugoroku waved them off.  “I will pray you do not call on me tomorrow until the sun sits high.” The advisor offered a small bow before taking his leave of the room, sweeping back towards the main part of his chambers. His dark green cloak trailing slowly behind him. Yugi swallowed, suddenly aware of how alone he was with the King once more.

“You may have to lend me your strength,” the Pharaoh grimaced as though the idea displeased him greatly. “I fear I have ridden far too long on this wound.” Yugi nodded emphatically, stepping closer to the man who clasped his shoulder once more for support. “Thank you.” The King murmured. Yugi’s mouth was dry so he merely nodded again. The scent of the drink and a deep musk filling his lungs where he stood so close to the man.

Their pace was slow and disjointed as they made their way through an exterior hall, passing guards who stood silent and unmoving in strict observation. Yugi kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of them as they walked, though he listened carefully to the staggered breathing of the Pharaoh next to him. He hoped that much of the issue was due to the wine and not a serious injury. Yugi became more concerned as the silence dragged on.

“They say you’re out chasing him,” Yugi said quietly, drawing upon the only subject that would come to him at the moment. Next to him the King chuckled, and the reaction tingled across Yugi’s skin.

“Gossiping, Yugi?” He asked, his voice tight from strain. Yugi flushed at the accusation.

“Your absence hardly goes unnoticed,” Yugi murmured.

“I suppose I must take that in stride,” the Pharaoh replied. Yugi did notice that the man was leaning less of his weight on Yugi as their walk continued. “Bakura seeks vengeance, not glory,” the King added. “He vanishes as quickly as he appears.”

“You will find him,” Yugi told him, a firm conviction settling into his chest. The journey to the King’s chambers was no short distance, and Yugi was forced to rely on the other man’s guidance as he himself had never traveled the particular route. Yugi was almost surprised when they stepped into the sleeping chamber, which he had only previously glimpsed through a distant veil. He carefully helped the Pharaoh seat himself on the edge of the enormous bed before he hurried into the bathing chamber, relieved to find that the magnificent inset tub was already full of steaming water. He made a mental note to find and thank whatever servant had done the job considering Yugi had never served a bath even half as grand.

When Yugi stepped back into the room he was surprised to see the King standing on his own, stiffly shedding his riding cloak. Yugi hurried to assist him, smiling nervously as he took the garment and folded it over his own arms. The Pharaoh began to discard his distinctive blue cape, which Yugi noticed was torn beyond repair along one edge.  “Can you…” Yugi began hesitantly. “Bathe yourself without drowning?”

The Pharaoh cracked an uncharacteristic grin in his direction. “Hopefully,” he said, winking at Yugi as he stepped past him and into the bathing chamber without so much as a backwards glance. Yugi flushed horribly.  

Yugi stared after him for a moment, before glancing down at the soiled garment he was still holding. He was unsure if he should remain or leave the man to attend to himself. He decided to remain, convincing himself that Sugoroku would hardly have requested his assistance just to walk his drunk nephew across the wing. Yugi carefully folded the cloak, although he was sure that the servants who attended to the man’s clothing would likely discard it. He placed the garment on a dressing table, letting his eyes wander over the various adornments of the King’s chamber.

Small figures of gods and goddesses decorated a number of the surfaces, mixed with a handful of carved creatures Yugi didn’t recognize. He paused as his slow steps took him past a narrow drafting table, stacked with various volumes and stray parchments. Yugi paused over a delicately intricate sketch of a lotus etched along the edge of a lengthy numerical charter. He gently straightened a few discarded quills, leaving the rest of the papers untouched.

Yugi lingered around the opulent room, listening carefully for any request for assistance from the bath. He passed one of the towering bookshelves, pausing to examine the titles of the many volumes bound in fine leather. None of them were familiar to him but that was quickly forgotten when Yugi’s eyes fell upon an ornate golden box perched between volumes on an adjacent shelf. A large eye stood out in relief from the intricate carving, an unusual design that was unlike any of the other art he had seen. Yugi reached out and traced the golden eye with the tip of his finger, surprised by how warm the surface felt under his touch.

Yugi’s attention was drawn from the decoration when a series of gentle noises from the other chamber interrupted the silence. He turned away from the shelf, not wanting to be accused of poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He returned to the large bed, carefully straightening and arranging the fine linens where they had been half-heartedly tucked and pressed by their previous attendant. He could hear that the Pharaoh had exited the chamber behind him, but he took a moment to finish with the bedclothes and compose himself before turning towards the man.

When he did, the apprehensive feeling that had been nervously hovering in his thoughts suddenly ceased to exist. Yugi stared as he felt his jaw slacken. The King wasn’t looking directly at him, busy running a cloth through his tri-colored hair that hung darker and heavier around his face than usual. Yugi couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering because the man wasn’t wearing much else, besides the wrap slung low on his hips. His alluringly tanned skin revealing the long lines of lean muscle across his chest and down his flat stomach.

The Pharaoh slung the cloth over his shoulder, tilting his head as he studied Yugi. The liner and other painted adornments had been washed away, the plethora of jewelry and the heavy crown discarded. Yugi supposed this was as human as the King ever looked, and yet he still appeared as regal as he had with the trappings. Yugi knew he must have been staring too long because the Pharaoh was looking at him peculiarly, and eyebrow raised in question. Yugi’s mouth was moving before he had even thought about it.

“How old are you?” Yugi asked, the question coming out in a rush. Standing with so little between them, the youth of Egypt’s only King was almost alarming. The King looked surprised, and Yugi cursed himself for voicing his improper musings.

“Sincerely?” The Pharaoh asked, approaching Yugi slowly. Yugi took a hesitant step backwards until he felt the carved frame of the large bed against the back of his legs. The King paused when he reached him, standing tall enough over Yugi that he had to look up at the other man. Yugi’s eyes widened and he stopped breathing altogether as the Pharaoh gently brushed a stray bang from Yugi’s forehead. “Too young,” the King murmured in response to Yugi’s forgotten question.

“ _Your Highness…_ ” Yugi tried to whisper but it came out slightly strangled. The Pharaoh frowned, his dark eyes shifting. His fingers moved from Yugi’s forehead, trailing down his cheek and brushing over his jawline. Yugi swallowed, his heartbeat picking up rapidly inside his chest.

“Atem,” the King responded softly, letting his thumb graze Yugi’s bottom lip.

“What?” Yugi asked, dazed.

“My name,” the Pharaoh smiled. Yugi’s scattered thoughts startled as he watched the almost lazy expression on the man’s face that was surely a lingering effect of the wine.

“Atem?” Yugi repeated, hyper aware of the few inches left between himself and the bare chest of the King of Egypt. Yugi could almost feel the heat of the bath on his own skin. The Pharaoh nodded slowly, his hand settling gently along Yugi’s neck. “I could not possibly address you by...” Yugi added hurriedly.

“I insist,” the King murmured. The space between them seemed to have disappeared, and all Yugi was capable of feeling was how close the other man was, and the way the taller man’s deep expression was causing the inside of his own stomach to twist.

“You’re drunk,” Yugi mouthed quietly into the closing space between them. The Pharaoh halted abruptly, pulling his hand back as if it had been slapped away. He moved, stepping back as his previous expression shuttered immediately. The silence that followed was almost physically painful.

“You should go,” The King said firmly. Yugi nodded, a painful knot seizing in his throat. He wanted to apologize, but could find no words. His hands trembled as he gathered the discarded robes he had folded. He bowed politely, his movements painfully slow. He didn’t dare look at the man, his own face burning in shame. He left hurriedly, his eyes never moving from the floor where they belonged.

He passed no one in the halls, his pace hurried in the dark. His heart was still hammering in his chest, although it had transitioned to a heavier more painful rhythm. Yugi tripped over his own feet as his uneven breaths were coming in gasps, cursing when he collided with a rough hewn corridor bench. Yugi sat in the empty hall, his eyes stinging as he wrapped his hands around his newly scraped shin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support! Drop a review if you'd like to chat.


	7. Chapter Seven

“You’ve frightened him,” Malik murmured into his pillow as the bed dipped and Marik joined him under the generous linens in the quiet cavern.  

“I should not have spoken so harshly,” Marik admitted as he settled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Malik hummed, shifting closer and draping his arm across the larger man as he settled against his lover. Marik ran his hand over Malik’s bare shoulders, fingers trailing gently back and forth. “But Bakura insists on wielding his recklessness without reason.” 

“Such is his nature,” Malik whispered. He tipped his head back, looking up at his partner. “He takes great pleasure in his theater of madness.”

“How easily he turns madness to brilliance,” Marik sighed. Malik smiled, basking in the lazy warmth of Marik’s skin.  

“He will find what he seeks,” Malik replied with a smooth conviction. “And you will surely follow, no matter how asinine the scheme.”

Marik chuckled. “I’ve known that since the day I encountered him.” He murmured, his fingers pausing to trace the intricate lines that decorated Malik’s back.

“What a sight that must have been,” Malik mused while he enjoyed the attention Marik was lavishing on him.

“You have never known mania like he possessed then,” Marik told him. “Like a poisoned beast.”

“Natural then, that you stuck up with him immediately.” Malik responded.

One of Marik’s brilliantly dark eyes cracked open as his lips twitched. “I’m afraid I haven’t always lived up to your commendable standards, _Lord Ishtar,_ ” he drawled. Malik smacked him playfully, though he could hardly contain his own laugh.

 

* * *

 

“Come Yugi,” Ahmet beckoned. “Sit,” he gestured towards a number of the newly emptied crates in the hall. The older man was breathing heavily, his face flushed and damp. Yugi collapsed near Ahmet, relieved to be off his own feet for a moment. “Heavens…” Ahmet groaned. “I’m getting too old for this.” Yugi let out a huff of air, wiping back the sweat from his own brow. He looked down at his hands, grimacing at the amount of filth caked under his uneven nails. Beyond the cover of the walkway, the sun sat high in the sky and the midday air smoldered around them.

The completion of their preparations was nearing, and Yugi could feel a huge sense of relief begin to seep into his tired frame. In a previous life he’d fantasized about the Opet festival. Extraordinary guests and entertainment at the palace, with celebrations spilling out into the city beyond. He’d known that the true purpose of the holy festival was about the Pharaoh’s appearance in the streets and his re-coronation deep in the hidden temples, though it was often overshadowed by the the general revelry among the masses in the capitol.

In reality the event was proving to be a miserable affair. Noble families were expected to arrive in the following days, and everything from the stables to dishes had to be scrubbed and polished. Lavish decorations beyond Yugi’s wildest imagination had been brought out, boasting centuries of Egyptian prosperity under the Pharaoh’s rule. Lengths of gilded beads were strung from the eaves and towering collections of fresh flowers in every color adorned every table. It was as breathtaking as it had been backbreaking for all of the slaves and servants involved.

“You’ll have to clean yourself up,” Ahmet told him. Yugi raised an eyebrow in response, too exhausted to come up with anything else. He shifted where he sat, grimacing at his stained shenti and the dark bruising around his knee he’d acquired at some point. “We’ll need extra hands to serve,” Ahmet continued. Even his short gray beard was somehow askew and uneven.

Yugi nodded, resigned to the inevitability. “Of course,” he answered.

Ahmet stood, straightening his robe. “You’ve been a great help, Yugi.” The old man’s face had softened slightly. He clasped Yugi’s shoulder gently. “You’ve done well.” Yugi smiled, though it came out forced. He stood too, ignoring the protesting of his strained limbs.

“The honor has been mine,” Yugi responded quietly. Ahmet nodded stiffly, apparently not practiced in giving compliments or unimpressed by the insincere response. Together they hefted one of the crates, moving carefully down the remaining hall and into the interior courtyard. Yugi blinked in the blinding sun, his eyes struggling to adjust. He glanced over his shoulder towards the heavy gates that marked the entrance to the palace, a sight he had not seen since he first passed through them.

Various soldiers and stable hands moved hurriedly around them, watched over by guards who stood motionless in their service, spears mounted. Where he was so often ignored in the palace, here people acknowledged them openly as they passed. Yugi stumbled, distracted as a group of young men cut across their path leading some of the tallest horses Yugi had ever seen. The enormous animals were an unusual black color, their coats brushed to a glossy shine. They tossed their heads with a restless energy, the strange metal shoes on their feet striking the paving stones of the yard. A crest embroidered with golden thread glinted against the leather restricting their heads. _War horses_ , Yugi recognized.  

Ahmet led them through the chaos, into one of the larger storage buildings beyond the stables and some of the barracks. They dropped the empty crate, pushing it out of the way of the other wares. They paused, breathing heavily in the stale air of the room. Ahmet approached the entrance they had come through, though he slowed and halted his movements rather abruptly. Yugi heard the commotion then, raised voices out in the yard. He hurried to Ahmet’s side, catching sight of the two figures.

Yugi recognized the form of the High Priest and the Pharaoh’s preferred General, though neither of them appeared to be in a particularly good mood. The blonde was gesturing wildly, shouting over some statement Seto had made. The taller man’s figure was more composed, but his face had settled into a dark and angry expression. He snapped back at something Yugi couldn’t hear.

“What are they on about?” Yugi asked quietly, glancing at Ahmet. The older man shrugged.

“With those two, it could be anything,” Ahmet told him. His words were casual, but a frown was beginning to set into his face. The expression dropped a weight of dread into Yugi’s stomach. “There is…” Ahmet continued slowly. “There have been some concerns about movements by northern tribes.”

“What does that mean?” Yugi asked, unfamiliar with such distant lands.

“War, possibly,” Ahmet replied, still watching the two men as their bickering continued to escalate in the open yard. Yugi swallowed, and cast a glance around but the horses they had just seen were already gone. The polished chest plates of passing soldiers glinted menacingly as they marched. Ahmet glanced back down at Yugi and patted his shoulder again stiffly. “Do not fret,” he consoled. “Egypt is a vast kingdom, we will stand for any challenge.”

Yugi nodded in response, his mind turning over the information. A vivid memory flashed through his thoughts, the night Ryou had vanished. The King and his sword, streaked with blood. The command in his deep voice that no one had dared to challenge. _The War Eagle of the North_ . Yugi imagined him poised atop one of the great beasts of battle he had just seen. It was a fitting visage, though it did little to appease the knot growing in Yugi’s stomach. “ _He drove away the terror and the darkness,_ ” Yugi quoted softly.

“ _In all the ways, in heaven and on the earth,_ ” Ahmet responded, finishing the notorious piece of scripture for him.

 

* * *

  

Ryou frowned at the length of unfurled scroll he was holding, lifting it up to catch more of the evening sun that glowed through the canvas covering the entrance to the cave. He held it out at arms length, squinting as he tried to derive any meaning from the array of meticulously even shapes and unusual characters.

“It’s upside down,” a deep voice interrupted, startling him. Ryou quickly let the edge of the parchment he had been holding snap back into a rolled shape, hastening to place it back onto one of the cluttered shelves he had removed it from.

“Sorry,” Ryou muttered. He smoothed his now empty hands over the front of the lilac robes he was wrapped in that were slightly too long for him and pooled around his bare feet on the stone floor. Bakura approached him across the cavern, tossing a pack and some other equipment he had been carrying onto a nearby chair as he went. His white hair was windswept, appearing in slightly more disarray than usual.

“Don’t apologize,” Bakura reprimanded as he approached Ryou lazily. His height allowed him an easy reach around Ryou, as he pulled the scroll off the shelf where the smaller boy had hastily returned it. Bakura began to unroll it slowly, and as he did Ryou’s eyes fell upon a thin silver scar that ran across the top of Bakura’s broad hand. “Here,” Bakura said quietly, offering Ryou the edge of the parchment as he unrolled more from the large spool that seemed to contain a great length of the document. Ryou accepted the offered edge with great care. He assumed it was now the correct way up, although he would hardly have known the difference.

“What is it?” Ryou asked, curious all the same.

“An old tale,” Bakura told him. “Two lovers who become the land and the stars in death.”

“How do you know that?” Ryou asked, looking up at the taller man. He was unnerved to find that Bakura seemed to be watching him, and not the exquisitely expensive parchment they were each holding between them. “Can you read it?” Ryou asked, although the question came out much quieter than he had originally intended.

Bakura gave a short nod. “It’s Sumerian,” he said. He stepped closer to Ryou and pointed to a large star shaped character near the top of a row, the sleeve of his red robe falling onto the page. The heavy weight of his body brushed against Ryou’s hip. “There is a man who is destined to be reborn a god,” Bakura ran his finger down the text, following a path that seemed to make sense to him. “He falls for a woman, who is made of earth,” Bakura’s finger paused on an elaborate circular symbol. The man’s deep voice suddenly melted into an unfamiliar language, a sentence or two Ryou could not have followed but still held his rapt attention. “They wish to be together but are doomed by destiny.” Bakura concluded, gesturing at the rest of the scroll that was still concealed.

“Beautiful…” Ryou whispered.

“Pardon?” Bakura asked, an eyebrow raised.

Ryou changed the subject hastily. “Do you speak other languages?” He asked. Bakura shrugged, avoiding Ryou’s gaze.  

“A few,” he admitted. “Enough to get by.”

“Amazing,” Ryou told him. He slowly traced his finger over a few of the symbols, marveling at their detail.  

“You may find plenty more like it if you insist on spying through all of my possessions,” Bakura commented. Ryou released the edge of the parchment he had been holding quickly, stepping back as he colored slightly. “Don’t apologize,” Bakura cut in before Ryou had begun to form the words. Ryou stood with his mouth open stupidly, his brain struggling to come up with an alternate response. Bakura turned away from him as he rolled the parchment, and Ryou took the moment to compose himself.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” Ryou countered, though he wanted to cringe at the retort as he heard it out loud.

Bakura snorted. “I don’t sneak,” he responded when he had finished stashing the scroll. Ryou crossed his arms over his chest in as much defiance as he dared. Bakura approached him anyway. “You didn’t bother to listen,” Bakura smirked, tapping Ryou gently on the side of his head. Ryou blinked, slightly stunned as Bakura swept past him and back to the pack he had brought into the cave with him. He began rummaging around inside the contents for something Ryou couldn’t see. Feeling too much like he was prying, Ryou looked away from the man and back to the hectic array of shelves and crates stacked along the wall instead.

“You have so many texts,” Ryou said quietly. Bakura’s eclectic collection seemed to be comprised of an endless number of trinkets and treasures Ryou hardly recognized. But the heaps of discarded jewelry and ornaments were overshadowed by the masses of tightly wound scrolls and volumes large and small.

Bakura paused where he was stooped and straightened slowly. “I suppose,” Bakura responded, his voice flat. “You can’t read them, can you?”

Ryou dropped his eyes to the floor, the blunt nature of the remark catching him off guard. “No,” he admitted. “I was not allowed.”

Bakura went back to his bag. “Do you want to learn?” He asked, apparently unbothered by the discomfort Ryou felt. Ryou blinked. It was never really something he’d considered, since Ahmet would never have approved of it.

“It’s bad luck,” Ryou said. He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. “Difficult too, they say…” he trailed off as his tongue seemed to be suddenly too large for his mouth. .

Bakura crossed the space sat on the edge of his large bed, his movement displacing a number of the multicolored silks spread across it. He pulled off one of the large boots he was currently wearing, before flipping it upside down and letting a small trail of sand drain out onto the rug. “You seem smart enough,” he grunted. He glanced back up at Ryou. “I’ve met many stupider a person who managed it.” Ryou flushed, stuttering slightly as he struggled to come up with a response. _The Thief King_ , was not only quite literate himself, but thought a Pharaoh's slave should learn as well. Ryou wondered briefly if he was still trapped in one of his fever dreams.

“You should ask Malik though,” Bakura continued undeterred as he removed his other boot. “I have been told I’m a poor tutor. Something about my personality,” he cracked a grin at Ryou, amused by his own joke. The expression revealed one of his unusually pointed canines, which seemed to glint in the dim room.

“Ask me what?” Malik asked as he glided effortlessly through the curtain and into the room.

“Nothing,” Ryou cut in quickly. The idea of learning texts still filled him with a writhing shame, and he didn’t want Bakura’s friend to assume it has been he who had been asking about such a thing. Malik didn’t respond but cast a glance at Bakura, raising an eyebrow in question. Bakura tore his gaze from Ryou, giving Malik a half-hearted shrug. Apparently content to humor Ryou for that moment.  

“Have you invited him to Opet yet?” Malik asked. Bakura shook his head and Malik rolled his eyes, aiming a small kick at Bakura’s shins which the larger man dodged easily.  

“Opet?” Ryou asked. He could hardly believe that the festival had arrived already, though he felt a twinge of guilt when he remembered the various platters and challaces he had left unpolished in the dungeon. He hoped that they had not punished others for his disappearance. A lump formed in his throat as he imagined Yugi now confined deep in the dark to Ryou’s endless tasks.  

“Have you been?” Malik asked, brightening at the apparent recognition.

“No,” Ryou responded quietly. He stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of his borrowed robes. “There was much to be done for the Pharaoh's guests,” he added. Malik had adopted a slightly apologetic expression, while Bakura scowled behind him.

“Who shall our dear Pharoah host this year?” Malik asked, apparently keen to keep the conversation moving in a more pleasant direction as he tossed some of his brilliantly blonde hair over one shoulder.

Ryou frowned. “Meritmut, I believe.” One of the oldest noble families in Egypt, Ryou had seen them come and go through the palace walls many times throughout his life. Though he had never actually laid eyes on any of them. He assumed they were as groomed and spoiled as any other lords and ladies in the land.

“Ah,” Malik smiled. “Nefertari! She’s not that much younger than Atem, you know. Quite a favorite for the crown.” Bakura snorted and muttered something Ryou couldn’t hear.  

Ryou shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” he responded honestly.

Malik clapped his hands together in excitement as he continued, his short white shirt riding up against his slim stomach. “I adored her when we were young, she was a beautiful girl. I long to see her.” Ryou’s brow dropped, confused.  

“You grew up in Thebes?” He asked. He had never seen more than a short glimpse of the capitol, but he had always been told it was the most prosperous settlement in Egypt. Much different from this strange oasis in the desert that seemed to be a sanctuary for all of kinds unsavory characters who Ryou had seen drifting through since he had arrived.

“That would be an understatement,” Bakura cut in as he stood from his previous position on the bed. He brushed down the front of his robes, watching Malik with a more serious expression than he had before. Malik was still smiling at Ryou, a twinkle of something trapped in his eye. Ryou looked between the two of them, waiting for the explanation.

Malik slipped his fingers under the collar of his shirt, slowly pulling on what Ryou realised was a very delicate gold chain. Eventually the chain revealed a small gold pendant, a family cartouche. Malik carefully removed the chain from around his neck, holding the object out. Ryou stepped forward slowly at the invitation, carefully taking the pendant into his own hands. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read, because the name staring back at him was very familiar.

“ _Ishtar_ ,” Ryou whispered. He glanced up, Malik was watching him calmly. Ryou glanced behind Malik, but couldn’t gleam much from the blank expression Bakura had adopted. “That… can’t be right…” Ryou trailed off slowly. Malik merely raised an eyebrow in apparent challenge.

“The High Priestess is the last Ishtar,” Ryou rambled. He frowned as he forced himself to remember. “She took up the position because the heir died. The son… Malik—” Ryou cut himself off abruptly in surprise. It wasn’t a particularly uncommon name, but the coincidence was hard to ignore.

“I’m not dead,” Malik told him with a good natured grin. “Though I might as well be to them, anyway.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ryou whispered. They were thieves, who knew where they had acquired that trinket. But something else was coming back to him, Isis’s voice ringing through his thoughts. She had insisted to see Marik, and they had argued. _Does the almighty Pharoah know your precious little brother is running around with filth like me and the other King?_ Ryou blinked as the pieces clicked together. How had he not caught that at the time?

Malik smiled. “Unfortunately, I can prove it,” he assured him. Malik reached again for the hem of his shirt as Ryou and Bakura both watched warily. The blonde pulled the garment over his head as he turned around, revealing the intricate design carved across his shoulders and down his back where smooth skin should have been. Ryou’s jaw slackened at the sight. Scenes from the scripture brought to life across his figure. The unmistakable mark of the family who had been entrusted with the Pharaoh's journey into the next life for millenia.

Ryou’s hand reached out almost involuntarily, the tips of his fingers brushing over the raised text. “Sorry,” he said quickly. He snatched his hand back as soon as the inappropriate nature of his action occurred to him.

“Not at all,” Malik assured him as he slipped his garment back over his head again. He spun back towards Ryou, adjusting the hem of his shirt. Ryou’s mouth was still slightly agape. Bakura coughed pointedly from behind them.

“How?” Ryou whispered, glancing between Bakura and the blonde.

Malik shrugged. “I’ll tell you the story someday,” he promised with a wink. “But now,” he continued as he spun on his heel. “Dinner is getting quite cold I’m afraid.” Bakura rolled his eyes but moved all the same, gesturing for Ryou to follow them. Ryou stopped at the lesser mats serving as his own bed to collect a borrowed cloak. He hurried to the front of the cave, to find Bakura holding back the canvas for him. Ryou whispered a quiet thanks as he ducked through it.

 

* * *

 

“I wish you would not brood so, my boy,” Sugoroku spoke as he stepped out onto the balcony bedecked in one of his grandest robes. The heavy linen of his sleeves almost brushing the floor as he walked. “I’m afraid it puts quite a damper on the whole affair.” The King tore his gaze from the grounds below, turning his head just enough to appraise his uncle. Eventually he sighed, pushing himself up from the railing he had been leaning heavily against.

“My apologies, Sugoroku,” the Pharaoh replied, brushing his unruly bangs back from the heavy crown. He had hardly noticed until then that the sun had set around the palace while he had been musing. “I was merely lost in thought.”

“You are a talented liar, Atem,” Sugoroku began. “But not yet talented enough to fool me.” The King ducked his head with a small smile, forever goaded by his advisor’s insightful spirit. Below them an untold number of servants and slaves were hurriedly transforming his mother’s gardens into an extravagant overflow off the dining hall. “The Meritmut family has chosen to honor us on this holy eve, I would not want your business to diminish that. Unless of course, it is not business that disturbs you…”

“Sugoroku,” The King chastised. He shook his head gently as if to banish his heavy thoughts. Sugoroku smiled. Atem stepped forward, grasping the old man’s outstretched hand. He returned the smile, a weight lifting from his spirit. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

The advisor nodded, and chose not to push the subject. “Shall we?” Sugoroku asked, gesturing towards the door with his free hand. Atem agreed, and they moved together back through the door, entering the corridor beyond. The King slowed his normal stride to match Sugoroku’s as they walked in easy silence. The halls were bustling with an unusual number of people, as most of the hands in the palace had been pressed into service. Servants averted their eyes as they passed, quickly bowing as best as they could manage with their arms piled high with various wares. Sugoroku paused between two corridors, stopping to admire a particularly large vase that was positively overflowing with delicate white lotuses.

“You throw a remarkable celebration, Uncle,” Atem observed quietly. In spite of the general admiration, a slow twisting guilt had begun to grow in Atem’s gut at the festival grew closer, and the various attendants appeared more haggard by the hour. None of it would show by the time Lord Meritmut and his daughter arrived, there was little that couldn’t be concealed with fine linens and powder. But the decadence Sugoroku sought to display for a few hours would wilt away just as quickly, leaving the less pleasant remains of the great burden that had been asked of his people. It was beautiful, Sugoroku had left no detail overlooked. But the young Pharaoh was not blind to the price paid.

Sugoroku smiled in response to his nephew’s compliment. “Such a shame then, that the people will attribute it all to you,” he quipped with a mock sigh. “Though, I suppose it is for the best. You’ve had most of the day to dress yourself properly and haven’t been able to manage it,” he sniffed.

Atem chuckled as he appraised his own garments. It was true, he hadn’t managed to change since he and Jounouchi had struck out on a hunt earlier that morning. They hadn’t had much luck with the birds, but the thick Nile mud was still caked around the hem of his robe. They passed a small group of younger servants, and Atem chastised himself for the hopeful feeling that flitted through him as he searched for a familiar appearance among them. It certainly wasn’t the time to dwell on such things.

Sugoroku interrupted his thoughts. “I’ve seen very specifically to your dress,” he told his nephew. “We may not hope to outshine Nefertari, but we will do our best.” Atem nodded distractedly, having hardly thought about Lord Meritmut and his remarkable daughter.

“You have outdone yourself as usual, Sugoroku,” the Pharaoh assured him, offering the graying advisor his arm. “A great honor for our family.” Sugoroku accepted the arm, patting Atem’s hand in gratitude.

“Save your praise until the affair is over,” Sugoroku teased. “Then I shall expect several weeks of reverent worship.” The King laughed, the sound echoing out across the grounds.

“I will see to it personally,” he promised.

 

* * *

 

Ryou wandered slowly down the sloping sand towards the ample fire pit smoldering near the bottom of the swell. The firelight cast a flickering glow over the Thief King’s lone frame, the unnatural shape of his wild hair dancing in the movement. The man’s back was to Ryou, absorbed in whatever he was seeing in the fire. Ryou had gathered the skirts of his too-long robe in his hands, awkwardly unfamiliar with the garment so unlike the shenti he had always worn.

“Balance your feet,” Bakura called out without turning from his position. “You need to spread your weight if you’re going to sneak up on me.”

“I don’t sneak...” Ryou countered, echoing the mans words from before.

“Not well, anyway,” Bakura replied, craning around to look at him as Ryou reached the small mound Bakura was resting on in front of the fire. Ryou sat, gathering the lengths of his cloak around him and burrowing his bare toes into the sand. Bakura watched him silently for a moment before turning back to the fire. “We’ll have to find you some decent clothing,” Bakura added. Ryou frowned down at the long robes he was wearing. It was true, borrowed from Malik they hardly fit his smaller frame. But they were made some the finest linens Ryou had ever worn, even if the lavender wasn’t really his color.

“I’m sure I can mend something,” Ryou offered. The idea of such a handout making him uneasy, wary of wandering into any debt of favor. Bakura merely grunted in response. The larger man picked up a large wooden bowl that had been sitting next to him, offering the contents to Ryou. Ryou gently selected a small yellow fruit from the collection, barely larger than his palm. Despite the isolation of the encampment, the residents ate as well as kings. Ryou had been tempted by meats, breads, and fruits the like he would have never prepared for his own in the palace. Ryou bit into the small fruit, the sweet liquid filling his mouth. He chewed slowly, bracing himself to bring up the subject that had plagued his thoughts all day.

“Where is Kul Elna?” Ryou finally asked, turning to look at the other man. Bakura’s expression shifted immediately, and he jerked sharply to look Ryou in the face. His dark eyes had widened ever-so-slightly, the otherwise blank expression harshened by the prominent scar cut into his face.

“Nowhere,” Bakura finally responded, his voice very quiet. “Not anymore,” he said as he turned back to staring into the fire. The movement of his limbs suddenly stiff and rigid.

“It took me a while to remember...” Ryou began softly, testing the subject. “I hadn’t heard those words in a long time.” Bakura threw grew a sidelong glance in his direction but didn’t respond. Ryou took it as an invitation to continue regardless. “I didn’t always work under the palace,” Ryou told him, looking down at his own hands in his lap. He took a deep breath to steel himself.

“When I was very young,” Ryou began. “Aknadin had several prisons. They say now that his mind was demented in his final days,” Ryou paused to collect this thoughts, the unpleasant memories murky after so many years. “There was hall after hall built to contain those he imprisoned. It was… horrible,” Ryou trailed off as he pulled his knees up to his chest. The memories of those voices as they begged for help echoing in this thoughts. He could see Bakura watching him out of the corner of his eye, but the man’s face held as much emotion as a death mask.  

“Most of them had been sentenced to death—” Ryou’s voice cracked and broke over the word. Bakura finally moved, a slow shift. He placed one of his large hands gently against Ryou’s back. His thumb moved slowly, tracing the edge of Ryou’s shoulder blade. Rather unwillingly, Ryou found himself leaning into the comfort. “They used to shout things at me when I passed,” Ryou finally continued. “But I remember one woman.”

Ryou took another deep breath. “She wanted to know when I had left Kul Elna, wanted to warn me about something,” Ryou frowned. “I don’t know what she was talking about,” he admitted. He was watching Bakura closely now, struggling to register his response. The larger man removed the hand he had used to comfort Ryou, and was now staring into the fire. The silence dragged on, until Ryou noticed that Bakura’s hands were now shaking slightly where they hung at his sides. Ryou reached out tentatively, wrapping his own fingers around Bakura’s hand and squeezing gently. After a beat, Bakura squeezed back.

Bakura let out a long breath, releasing Ryou’s hand. He turned to look at Ryou, the firelight dancing in the reflection of his eyes. He spoke finally, though the words shook just enough for Ryou to notice. “You’re older than I thought you were if you remember Aknadin,” he said.

Ryou shrugged. “I was very young at the time, he died not long after.” Bakura didn’t say anything more but reached into the bowl now resting at his feet and pulled out a large plum, frowning as he turned it over in his fingers. “His son is a much different kind of man, I think,” Ryou concluded.

“You worship your precious Pharaoh then?” Bakura asked, eyeing the plum he had picked up darkly. A large bruise marred the surface of the fruit.

Ryou frowned at him. “I have been his possession for many years,” he murmured.

Bakura snorted, tossing the spoiled fruit into the fire. “That’s hardly an answer to my question.” Ryou didn’t know how to respond immediately, so he wrapped his arms around his knees once more. He watched the dying embers of the fire swirl with a warm gust of air.

“Other slaves used to say that in the villages they believe he is a child of the Gods themselves,” Ryou finally replied.

Bakura scoffed. “A load of nonsense,” he muttered.

“There is something… unusual about him,” Ryou admitted, the words coming out slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful person.” Bakura let out a cold bark of laughter, startling Ryou and tearing his attention away from the embers.

“And that makes him a God?” He asked, fixing Ryou with a sharp look.

“That or the royal family is an incredible bloodline,” Ryou shrugged. He looked away, unable to meet Bakura’s eye.

“His father was ugly like an old prune,” Bakura responded. Ryou smiled to himself as he rested his chin on his knees, enjoying the warmth emanating around them as the chill of the desert night began to set in.

“Divine intervention then?” He asked, almost teasing.

“More likely the intervention of a very fine concubine,” Bakura countered. Ryou hummed in response, watching the discarded plum as it slowly blistered and sunk into the heat of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Yugi’s religious quote is borrowed from a translated copy of the Book of the Dead. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! My New Year’s resolution is to accomplish at least one chapter a month this year, and I’m excited. To help keep me on track, I’ve started a Tumblr to keep all my brainstorming and inspiration in one place. You can find it here if you’re interested: https://wildcranberry.tumblr.com
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Thank you for all the support.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again!

Atem swirled the last inch of dark wine in his glass, listening politely as a southern governor continued his lengthy narrative of irrigation developments. The region’s accomplishments were certainly remarkable, if a little dull for a party. Nefertari sat beside him nodding attentively at the appropriate moments while her finely jeweled fingers worked the cutlery with an artful patience. The dinner was exemplary, dishes piled high with golden meats and succulent greens laid generously down the length of the table. It would almost have been enjoyable if Atem hadn’t been acutely aware that the entire room was watching his every movement with rapt attention.

Sugoroku had been clever enough to escape the discomfort. The man had a particular knack for avoiding the royal scrutiny that came with his decades of experience. He sat near the end of the table engrossed in a deep conversation with Lord Meritmut. As two of the oldest men in the room they were hardly unfamiliar with such an event, and they carried on like old friends just out of the King’s earshot.

At a lull in the conversation Nefertari brought her napkin to her painted mouth, patting gently. “Such admirable achievements,” She acknowledged delicately. It was clear she at least had been listening to the tall man as he babbled. “Governor, you have brought honor to us all.” She smiled, her renowned beauty temporarily stunning the man into a much welcomed silence.

Atem gave a small nod in agreement with the sentiment as the attention once again settled back onto him. Nefertari was as tactful politician as her father, something Atem would not forget. When the table had finished several more rounds of commendations Atem stood, signaling the end of meal. Nefertari accepted his offered hand with a polite smile as he helped her to her feet. Together they moved through the halls as the rest of the guests followed suit.

“Your gardens are just as beautiful as I remember,” she commented as they passed a grand archway that led out onto the grounds. Her long black hair hung over one shoulder as she admired the manicured blooms.  

“You flatter me,” Atem dipped his head as much as the heavy bejeweled collar draped around his neck would let him. He had slipped his hands into the pockets of the lengthy formal robe he wore as they walked.

“I was hoping to flatter your gardeners,” Nefertari responded with a pleasant smile. Her painted hands were clasped where they rested atop the numerous layers of her gown.  

Atem let out a huff of amusement. “I can assure you they have been in great need of your admiration.”

“Your Highness,” She laughed. “Oh, how you have grown!” It was true, Atem had last seen her when they were both children. They had been destined to inherit great titles but had still been so peacefully separated from the reality of it. They had played in the flowerbeds, hunted for frogs in the reeds, and giggled their way through their instrument lessons. “How we have all grown,” she concluded.

_How much I still have left to master_. Atem thought to himself though he smiled and nodded all the same. They did not speak much more since the remainder of their party caught up to them quickly, not keen to pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop. It was only a short walk to the parlor hall where a number of the finest lounges and seats were arranged for them around various tables and entertainments. Atem seated himself in a large ornate chair near the center while Nefertari settled on nearby couch. He was tired, mentally and physically wrung dry by the tedious events of the day. Atem begrudgingly noticed Sugoroku sneaking towards one of the senet tables in the back of the room. He couldn’t wait for the whole affair to be over.

Atem cared deeply for his subjects and the people of his nation who relied on him. But he was no agrarian, justice, or forecaster. There was only so much a single King could accomplish in one lifetime. Still it was his duty to listen, to care, and to employ the proper individuals to address the concerns of his nobles. Though too many of the requests for his consideration were simply an attempt to brag over the success of other prominent families. He would never wish for war or battle… but at least he excelled in those much more effectively than the gossip disguised as politics.

A movement among the servants caught his attention, and Atem allowed his gaze to drift from the conversation churning around him. A pleasant surprise struck him when he noticed a familiar mess of tri-colored hair attending to a nobleman’s glass nearby. As far as he knew Yugi was never meant to serve and Atem noticed a slight tremble in the boy’s grip on the bottle of wine he held. _Understaffed_ , Atem concluded without particular disappointment. Yugi wasn’t looking at him, which was a loss since the boy’s inability to consistently maintain his station was one of the things that Atem found so entertaining about him.

“My liege,” an elder began from the next lounge over. Atem reluctantly averted his gaze, settling on the wizened nobleman. “Surely you have read the latest reports on the Badari stores?” The man asked. Atem blinked, unable to bring himself to take a renewed interest in the surplus of second harvest barley yields in a particular region. _The peasants were eating well, surely that was most important?_ Luckily the man took his silence as an invitation as he began a lengthy summary of individual returns in his fieldship.

Atem’s focus was momentarily pulled from the drivel as a servant passed him a large goblet of dark wine. He had been doing his best not to drown himself in drink, but it was becoming increasingly tempting as the night wore on. He look a long swallow as he allowed his attention to drift from the nobleman. His eyes alighted upon the slave again, who was now watching him with interest. Yugi’s large round eyes were fixed upon him, but his expression was cross between apparent embarrassment at being caught once again and a kind of sympathetic curiosity. _Now Yugi, who could be bored of grain reports?_ Atem thought to himself. _This is what befalls me while you play table games with my best advisor._

As the man rambled on, Atem gently raised his glass to his mouth in an attempt to conceal the involuntary twitch of his lips at his wandering thoughts. He met Yugi’s gaze over the rim of his glass, daring him to look away. A pink blush bloomed slowly across the boy’s face, but he did not break the connection where he knelt on the rug. Atem lifted his brow ever so slightly in amusement at the quiet joke between them, downing the remainder of the wine to cover the smile he could no longer prevent.

Yugi smiled too, though it was slightly more well restrained. _He really was very pretty_ , Atem mused. They had dressed him in a formal servants gown, accentuating the boy’s petite figure and bright features. It was too pleasing, and Atem wondered for a moment if it hadn’t been arranged just so by his meddling uncle. Yugi broke their eye contact as a bejeweled hand appeared in front of the boy’s face, fingers snapping forcefully.

Atem’s vision jumped abruptly to Nefertari. Her arm was still extended where her hand hung in front of the boy’s face. A hot rush of anger surged through Atem as he realized _she was correcting him_. He was not the only one who had been watching Yugi. A look of terrible shame had struck the boy’s features as his frame crumbled down into a low bow. _She dared to put the Pharaoh’s servant in his place?_ Atem felt the glass in his hand begin to crack under his tightened grip. The boy kept his gaze firmly on the floor as he trembled. Atem struggled to control his breathing.

Yugi retreated back towards the rest of the servants. A few of them seemed to be whispering between each other. They had certainly noticed the interaction, and some of them moved to distance themselves from the boy as he joined them. Atem jerked his attention away from the scene as his temper flared. He no longer had any idea what the elderly nobleman next to him was saying. Atem ground his teeth as he caught Sugoroku’s knowing look from the back of the room.

Sugoroku’s expression was calm. Atem was sure that the man had witnessed as much as he had, but few things ever managed to rattle his uncle’s composure. _First and foremost, you are King_. Atem could only imagine the entirety of the lecture his advisor would have on the subject.

 

* * *

 

Yugi brushed his hands carefully over his skirt as he sniffed, not yet accustomed to the soft sheen of the material. The man Ahmet had dragged him to had thrust some of the formal serving garments upon him, and a few of the kitchen girls had helped him with the complicated layers and ceremonial ties. Yugi was wrapped so tight he could hardly breathe. He wasn’t allowed to use any of the full bathing chambers the normal servants patronized, but the matron in the washrooms had drawn a hot basin for him and it had gone a long way. Yugi hardly recognized himself in the flickering reflection that was staring back at him from the surface of the small pond. He supposed that was the point.

The royal guests had long since retired from the gardens but some of the ornate torches still burned low where they illuminated small sections here and there. Yugi would put them all out eventually. When he was finished soaking in the calm silence of the cool grass under him, and the delicate movement of the lotus blooms as they bobbed on the surface of the water. He let out a shaky breath as the heavy weight of the last few days began to dissolve under his skin. Somewhere off in the distance the soft sound of a bird cooing echoed through the trees.

After a few more moments, a deep voice broke the silence. “I do not wish to interrupt you,” the Pharaoh spoke as he seemed to materialize out of the darkness in all his finery. “If you had wished to be alone.” Yugi’s stomach performed it’s familiar lurch at the sight of the man, but now the shame was greater than it had never been. He glanced down at his bare ankles as he shuffled slightly in embarrassment, the memory of his earlier misstep still burning fresh in his mind.

“Not at all, I was just…” Yugi trailed off as he started at his feet. There wasn’t much point to denying the current insubordination now that he had been caught. _Again_. “Sitting here,” he finished quietly. He quickly wiped at his eyes to conceal any evidence of the self-pity he’d been indulging in. _Why couldn’t he manage to do things properly?_ He twisted his damp fingers in the fine fabric of the hem of his borrowed skirt.

The Pharaoh didn’t respond as he moved silently across the clearing. His practiced grace unbroken in his own formal garments, shifting the long gold shroud he wore around him as he went. Yugi barely noticed the man had discarded a considerable amount of the jewelry he had been draped in earlier. Yugi’s insides twisted painfully. He was doing his best not to think about earlier. The King lowered himself into the grass next to Yugi, laying back with his hands behind his head as he stared up at the night sky. Yugi swallowed nervously.

“I hope you at least were attentive to the Badari nobleman’s concerns,” Atem began, his eyes now closed where he lay next to Yugi’s hunched form. “I’m afraid I did not manage a word of it.” Yugi kept his gaze fixed firmly on the pond in front of him as the Pharaoh continued, apparently satisfied to hold the conversation on his own. “Do you suppose I will offend him if I tell him such?”

“I’m sure he will be honored to receive any attention you bestow upon him,” Yugi finally responded quietly as he watched a few petals drift lazily across the surface of the water. Atem snorted, but did not reply before a distant shout interrupted their brief moment. Yugi moved hurriedly to stand, but the King grabbed his wrist to still the movement. Atem’s fingers were smooth but firm as they moved over Yugi’s skin. Slowly, Yugi lowered himself back onto the grass.

“Atem!” A small voice called out. “I know you are here!” The Pharaoh chucked next to Yugi, releasing Yugi’s wrist from his strong grip. The man was sitting up on his elbows now, apparently careless that the expensive fabric of his royal garment was likely soiled by the dirt and grass. The gold bands encircling his biceps glinted as the muscles strained around them. As suddenly at the next shout had come, a small figure appeared where the path rounded into the clearing. Yugi realized after a moment that it was just a boy.

“Mokuba,” Atem greeted the newcomer warmly. The young noble was dressed remarkably well though he was unfamiliar to Yugi. The boy beamed as he hurried over to them. His large array of dark hair swinging as he bounced. He flopped down next to them and crossed his legs, poking Atem in the chest in an accusatory manner.

“You disappeared!” Mokuba huffed. Atem swatted the boy’s proding finger away with a laugh. Mokuba countered by seizing the man’s fingers with one hand and going in for another poke with the other. Yugi observed their childish interaction with an amazed interest until the Pharaoh all but rolled into him in an attempt to dodge Mokuba’s next attack.

“Sorry,” Mokuba grinned as he relinquished his assault.

“Yugi,” Atem began as he righted himself properly with a grunt. “This ungrateful brat plaguing us with his presence is dear Seto’s nearest kin.” Mokuba moved to smack the young Pharaoh again but Atem lunged first, tackling the boy down.

“Off!” Mokuba whined from where he was quickly pinned. Atem ignored him.

“Priest Seto?” Yugi asked quietly as he watched them with wide eyes, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yeah,” Mokuba ground out from where he was being crushed by the King’s weight. “That’s my brother.” Atem finally released him, pushing off as he sat back up on the grass. Mokuba rolled over, brushing the dirt and twigs from the front of his ceremonial garb as he stuck his tongue out at the Pharaoh.

“Wait… Yugi?” Mokuba asked as he raised his head up from his position now sprawled out on the grass. Yugi gave a small nod in response, though he was hesitant to hold the eye contact for too long. Atem had settled back in his original position, the line of his body inches from Yugi’s own. “You’re the one Sugoroku plays!” Mokuba observed as he sat up.

Yugi nodded again as he slowly pulled his knees up to his chest. “Only on a few occasions,” he responded quietly.

Mokuba grinned. “He says you’re very talented.” Yugi colored, flattered but embarrassed by the attention to his non-essential habits all the same.

“I—” Yugi stuttered. “I wouldn’t know about that.” He dipped his bare toes into the edge of the pond as Mokuba watched him with his innocent expression.

“Will you play me?” The boy asked. Yugi turned abruptly to look at him, frowning at the request. _Surely he was not serious?_ Such a thing would be improper. The boy had to possess the tutors and kinsmen usually bestowed to appease him.

“Of course not,” the Pharaoh interrupted in an even tone. Yugi felt a small sense of relief. “If anyone is to challenge him next it will be me,” he concluded as though the matter was settled. Yugi blinked as he processed the statement, not yet entirely convinced he had heard properly.

“That’s not fair!” Mokuba countered. “You can play anyone you want.”

“I am aware,” The King replied. He turned to smile at Yugi, who was still observing their easy banter in a slight state of bewilderment. Yugi’s insides twisted at Atem’s smug expression. His dark eyes set a striking contrast against the crown laid heavy on his brow. Yugi swallowed heavily. The young Pharaoh stared at him for the slightest moment longer more before he moved, standing slowly. Atem brushed his hands over the many formal ties secured around his waist as he fixed his gaze down upon the boy.

“Mokuba,” he spoke. “I fear we have trespassed for too long on Yugi’s privacy, and the hour creeps further past your bedtime.” His tone was firm but not unkind. The King looked back over his shoulder, smiling briefly at Yugi as he gestured for Mokuba to join him.

“I don’t have a bedtime!” Mokuba objected as he scrambled to his feet.

“Perhaps,” Atem drawled as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and began to lead him out of the clearing. “But I shall certainly decree one for you.” The exact nature of Mokuba’s vigorous objections were lost to Yugi as they moved further from him. He stared after the bend in the path long after they had disappeared, sitting there by the pond until the torches burned themselves out.

 

* * *

 

Ryou yelped as he lost his tight grip on the heavy reins, causing him to slip and tumble the last few feet of his dismount from the enormous animal he had rode in on. He toppled unceremoniously into Marik’s hulking frame on his way down, calling out. Ryou winced as the larger man stumbled from the impact but at least remained relatively upright. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Marik drawled as he slowly set Ryou up on his feet again in the back alley. “But you are a dreadful horseman.”

Ryou flushed as he regained his footing. “Sorry,” he apologized hurriedly while brushing sand off of the simple brown garment he had borrowed. The alley was dim since the sun had not yet fully risen, weakly illuminated by a few scattered torches mounted outside the small inn. Marik’s severe features were as inscrutable to Ryou as they always were.  

“Give them here,” Marik instructed as Ryou reached for the reins of the large white horse again. “I’ll handle it.” Ryou bit his lip but gently set the lengths of leather into the man’s rough hands.

“Thanks,” Ryou said quietly as Marik steered the head of the beast towards a post.

The taller blonde nodded as he hitched the tack with practiced movements. “You don’t have to thank me,” Marik responded as he pulled the sleeve of his violet robe back. His thick forearm was revealed as he worked, a number of deep scars marring the tanned skin. “I’m afraid I owe you as much.”

“I don’t understand,” Ryou said as he rubbed gently at his own arms. The air in Thebes had a distinct chill to it before dawn.

“Let’s go in,” Marik jerked his head towards the open door as he finished. “It would not be wise to linger.” Ryou nodded as he followed the larger man, his question still unanswered. The inn was bright and warm, though the dining hall they entered was mostly empty. He guessed that most of the patrons were still asleep and hadn’t ridden through the desert in the early hours of the day like they had. Ryou followed Marik as the blonde made his way towards a back corner of the hall, where several figures were quietly chatting at the bar.

Bakura’s figure was unmistakable even in the dark cloak he wore as he leaned against the counter, but it took Ryou a moment to realize that Malik was standing on the other side. The smaller blonde had one arm wrapped around a very large man Ryou didn’t recognize. The somber-looking innkeeper had a number of markings on his face, and a dirty rag in one hand. Malik was laughing at something the man had said to Bakura as they approached. “Rishid,” Marik nodded in greeting.

“Marik,” the man named Rishid received him with an affectionate twist of his lips. “I’m glad you have come.”

“Wouldn’t dare to miss it!” Malik giggled as the innkeeper tousled his blonde hair. When Rishid turned to pass something to Bakura, Ryou noticed the dark ponytail tied at the nape of his neck.

“You know how Malik prefers high society,” Bakura smirked as he knocked back the liquid from a small glass.

“Insatiable as always, Master Malik.” Rishid teased. The level of affection was slightly off putting from such a strict looking man. Malik rolled his eyes as he groaned and unsuccessfully attempted to shove the larger man in protest. Ryou came quietly to stand by Bakura, feeling a little like he was prying on an intimate moment. Bakura nudged him as he got closer.

“Ryou, this is Rishid.” Bakura jerked his head in the direction of the innkeeper. “An old acquaintance.” Bakura squeezed Ryou’s arm briefly above his elbow. Ryou didn’t know if it was in greeting or warning.

“An honor,” Rishid dipped his head slowly in a formal bow. “Where have they managed to steal you from?” He asked when he returned to his full height. The question held no malice, but was too close to the truth. Ryou felt his stomach plummet as Marik grunted pointedly.

“Rishid! We’ve been over this,” Bakura cut in easily before Ryou could summon a reply. “You know too many of our secrets already.” Rishid chucked in response as Bakura waved his finger. Malik slowly released the large man and slid back over the top of the bar to join Marik.

“Be that as it may,” Rishid acknowledged. “It might be wise for you to get moving.” He continued in a lower tone as a handful of women appeared at the bottom of the stairwell in the corner. “The festival seems to begin earlier every year.” Bakura nodded as he slid his glass back towards the innkeeper.

“Shall we?” Bakura turned to ask Ryou as he adjusted the gray garment he had worn for the occasion. Ryou gave a little shrug, genuinely ignorant as to how Opet unfolded outside of the walls of the palace he had spent his life in. Bakura moved away from the bar, exchanging a short goodbye with Rishid before he led Ryou through the eclectic arrangement of empty tables and back out into the alley.

“Are Malik and Marik not coming?” Ryou asked nervously as they stepped into the street. He stuck close to Bakura as they walked, keeping his eyes averted from the people already gathering the early morning light.

Bakura shook his head. “They have other business to attend to,” he replied as he steered Ryou around a sharp corner and up another long street. They passed carts and shop fronts stacked high with goods and wares, with people already shouting and descending upon them. Ryou stared at small creatures in crates and shelves of colorful trinkets he had never seen before as they passed. _The City of Thebes_ , he marveled silently to himself.

It wasn’t until they reached the higher streets that masses of people moving through the roads slowed their progress. A flurry of languages chatted around them as brightly colored silks and lengths of dyed cloth darted past Ryou’s vision. He was torn between gawking openly and his growing fear of being recognized. He pressed himself close to Bakura as his eyes darted from object to object in the hussle of the busy street.

Bakura cursed as he halted abruptly in the crowd. Ryou looked around, confused while he barely avoided running right into the man. The congregation in front of them was parting down the middle of the street for some kind of disturbance. Ryou caught a momentary glimpse of polished brass and braided leather. _Soldiers_. Ryou gripped Bakura’s arm as his heart skipped a beat. He was a fugitive slave traveling with one of the most wanted men in the kingdom, what had lead him to this? Surely they would be put to death.

He looked up at Bakura, but the man was staring off to the side of the street where a gap between two large buildings formed a narrow alley. Slowly and carefully Bakura pulled Ryou through the crowd and into the short space between the buildings that quickly revealed itself to be a dead end. Bakura didn’t seem concerned by the discovery but pushed Ryou up against the wall, angling himself so that his large frame blocked any view of their faces from the street. Ryou peaked around as Bakura cast a quick glance back over his shoulder. A few people did seem to be watching them with a half-hearted curiosity.

“Don’t freak out,” Bakura muttered. Ryou didn’t have time to figure out what he meant before Bakura had slipped one of his hands behind Ryou’s head and pulled him up into a forceful kiss. Ryou squeaked and Bakura shifted them, the man’s hand gripping at Ryou’s waist to pull him closer. What had just been a firm press to begin with quickly turned into more as Bakura deepened the kiss with a well placed bite to Ryou’s lower lip. Ryou gasped as Bakura’s tongue smoothed over the angry flesh. The man’s mouth was heavy and demanding as it moved against his, but it was hot and slick and _good_. Ryou felt his knees go weak as he began to melt into it, his fingers curling into the fabric covering the larger man’s chest. But as suddenly as he had started the whole thing, Bakura pulled back.

“What…” Ryou began, his chest heaving. Bakura placed a finger to his lips, silencing whatever Ryou had been about to say as the measured military footsteps continued in the street just behind them. For all the confusion, the weight of Bakura’s body was surprisingly relaxed against him. Ryou stared at the small expanse of Bakura’s tanned chest that was currently under his nose as he tried not to focus on the events around them. The swell of thick muscle, rising and falling slowly. When the footsteps faded and the irregular hussle of the common crowd started up again, Bakura dropped the hand that had been gripping Ryou’s waist.

“Trust me,” Bakura chuckled as he slipped his hand out from behind Ryou’s head. The deep sound reverberating through Ryou’s own chest where they were still connected. “There is a much larger bounty on my head than yours.” Ryou released his grip on Bakura’s robe as soon as he realized his fingers were still clutching it. Ryou nodded stiffly, unable to trust himself to speak at that moment. “That being said,” Bakura continued almost as if nothing had happened while he observed a collection of crates leading up to the sloping roofline of the building above them. “How do you feel about heights?” He asked as he stepped away from Ryou and further into the alley.

“You kissed me!” Ryou said abruptly, his senses finally beginning to catch up to the situation once more. Ryou brought his shaky fingers to his recently bitten lip, as the rapid pace of his heart finally began to calm down.

Bakura paused, turning back to look at him. “It makes people uncomfortable,” he explained with a shrug. “They don’t like to watch...” his tone was casual but the man’s expression had suddenly taken on a very curious look as the words trailed off of his lips. Ryou suddenly felt extremely self conscious as Bakura’s gaze lingered on him, blinking slowly as though the events of moments prior had just recently occurred to him. Ryou crossed his arms in an attempt to conceal his discomfort, but the loud rumble of an ox-drawn cart in the street seemed to pull Bakura out of his moment more effectively.

“Hurry up,” Bakura said as he jerked his head towards the crates at the back end of the alley. “I’ll lift, you jump.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear... Poor Yugi... 
> 
> Next update soon! Thank you for all of your support, your kind messages make this ridiculous hobby one of my favorite things. 
> 
> You can find me musing away here on Tumblr: https://wildcranberry.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think less of me,” Ryou said sadly as his chest twisted, “because I have been just a slave.”
> 
> “Not at all,” Bakura replied as the corner of his mouth turned up in a melancholy kind of smile. He tucked some of Ryou’s hair behind one ear while his other hand fell to Ryou’s bare thigh. The larger man was almost sitting up now, so that their noses nearly touched. “I think less of anyone who could be around you and not want to set you free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!

“My King,” Nefertari began as she placed her hand over Atem’s long fingers. The Pharaoh startled at her touch, glancing around. “Are you well?” She asked. “Forgive me, you do not seem well.”

The young man blinked slowly as he met her gaze, eyes unfocused. His crown glinted, still a standout even though his ceremonial ornaments were beyond numerous. The King of Egypt was lavishly decorated with the great prosperity of his nation for the holy day. Nothing less was to be expected. Atem dipped his head with an abashed look as she continued to observe him. “My apologies,” he smiled as he placed his hand over hers. “You must forgive me my distraction.”

“Not at all,” Nefertari replied as she returned his smile. “We are honored to be in your presence today.” The Pharaoh turned his head again, staring out through the curtain that swayed as they moved. The large palanquin they traveled through the city in was draped in heavy cloth to shield them from the sun and the throngs of onlookers. People shouted as they passed, although the individual words were muffled by the finery.

They were headed to the Nile, where Atem would take his place on a barge and embark on the short journey to the temples of Luxor with his priests. Nefertari and the nobles would wait patiently for his return and the renewed kingship the sacred ceremonies would bestow on Egypt’s ruler. The people would celebrate the common festival throughout the day and into the night, where revelry and wine would flow quite freely.

It was not Atem’s first ceremony. He had shouldered the burden as soon as his father had passed on those many years ago. It was the part of his obligations that terrified Atem the most, where he was expected to be much more than just a man. The divine would shine through him, but only if he was worthy. If the people of Egypt suffered, it would be because his heart and spirit were found wanting by the Gods. War, famine, disease, all a reflection of his soul.

He could not manage to summon the anger Nefertari had sparked in him just the day before faced with what lay ahead. She was a product of some of the finest breeding among Egyptian nobles, and she upheld the highest expectations of class placed upon her. No soul-bound weight rested on her shoulders as she smiled politely at him. Her hand neither enslaved nor drew the blood that was required to do so. Atem envied her as their panaquin moved along, a view of the Nile bank stretching out before them. Her heart was free.

“Are you ready?” Nefertari asked next to him as the convey slowed to a halt.

“Of course,” Atem nodded as he stood, his hand sliding away from hers. He had been born for this.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never seen so many buildings,” Ryou marveled as he stumbled over one of the thick clay tiles that made up the steeply slanted roof they walked along.

Bakura caught him by the back of his robe before he could fall, he himself still staring out at the horizon. “You lived here your whole life,” the taller man replied.

“I lived there—” Ryou said as he pointed out over the thousands of dwellings towards the one distant complex that towered over all of it. The palace looked so different from the outside, the splendor of the endless rooms and gardens concealed by high walls and protective measures. The kind of measures meant to keep thieves out and slaves in.

They stopped along the edge of one roof, dropping down to the next one a few feet below. Ryou could hear the crowds in the streets and alleys below, but he could no longer see them. It was a small relief, since Ryou had never seen so many people either. It wouldn’t last. The morning was finally breaking above them, and they wouldn’t want to be caught under the might of the Egyptian sun for too long.

The buildings they traveled along became shorter and smaller while Bakura lead them west across the city, the wealth of one neighborhood slowly giving way to the humility of another. When they finally climbed back down to the ground, it was into a long neglected alley that certainly didn’t seem to be celebrating much. Ryou stuck very close to Bakura while they made their way past a few deserted shops and stands. He almost jumped when he noticed a lone man leaning in a broken doorway eyeing them warily, his partially obscured face heavily scarred. Ryou was just barely able to make out a few words hissed in their direction while Bakura steered him away from the stranger forcefully.

Ryou glanced back over his shoulder, something eerily familiar about the unpleasant looking man and his unusual robes. “Why is he dressed like Marik?” Ryou asked as it dawned on him. Bakura pushed him into another another side alley that cut between two larger buildings.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bakura muttered, his hand firm on the small of Ryou’s back.

“He called us _nebusemekh,_ ” Ryou pointed out.

“It’s nothing—ignore it,” Bakura said as they turned a sudden corner into a much larger and more welcoming street.

Ryou rolled his eyes as he tugged at the end of Bakura’s long sleeve. “He thinks we’re cursed spirits. Men without proper burials.”

“How do you know that?” Bakura asked as he paused abruptly, his dark eyes glancing back at Ryou’s face.

“I’m not naive,” Ryou told him as people in various brightly colored garments pushed their way around them. “They’ve said it about me my whole life.”

“Well, are you one?” Bakura asked with a twitch of his lips, easily ignoring the festival goers that jostled about.

“ _Are you?"_  Ryou countered, his eyes tracing over the man’s very unusual white hair. He knew it was just another story. Ryou wasn’t superstitious, and he never had been. He’d seen enough of the darkness to know if anything else existed in it.

“My people came to this kingdom from a land very far away,” Bakura replied with the kind of tight voice that made it sound as if he was telling the truth for the first time in a long time.

Ryou smiled. “That sounds nice.” He hardly knew much about Egypt beyond the palace walls, let alone the people beyond. Were there whole cities of people who looked like Bakura, _or him?_ He could scarce imagine it.

“They’re all dead now.” Bakura said as he turned back to the street.

“Oh,” Ryou responded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bakura muttered as Ryou hurried to keep up with the man’s long strides through the bustling streets of Thebes. “Don’t apologize.”

 

* * *

 

Yugi peeked around the edge of the ornate railing decorating the mezzanine when one of the much younger slave girls pinched his elbow. He smiled at her and shifted over where he was crouched to allow her a better view of the grand hall below. They had been hiding for too long to be considered at all reasonable, but it was bound to happen soon.

The royal precision was returning. The hour was late enough that most of the various lords and ladies has already departed, while the staff waited patiently for the reappearance of the King. The dinnerware had been scrubbed, the linens collected and sent off to be washed, and the floors polished once more. The end of the whole cursed affair was finally in sight.

The heavy wooden doors to the great hall finally scraped open, revealing the small party beyond. The young Pharaoh came in first with the daughter of Merimut from the night before on his arm. As much of Yugi’s insides twisted at the sight of her he could hardly deny her beauty. They made a stunning couple. A sad twinge pulled somewhere deep in Yugi’s chest as he watched them, the train of Atem’s elaborate vestments trailing almost as long as her dress. They slowly passed under the walkway where the servants crouched concealed, the woman’s jeweled hand resting delicately on the Pharaoh's sleeve.

The pair stopped at the end of the hall while the guards dispersed to the shadows around them. The couple exchanged a few short words that none of the servants could make out before the King dipped his head and kissed her hand. One of the girls pressed into Yugi’s side swooned audibly as the feeling in Yugi’s stomach slowly sunk. The lady Merimut bowed deeply, a formal show she ended in an easy smile before she turned to take her leave down one of the numerous connecting corridors. The Pharaoh slid his hands into his pockets as he watched her go for several long moments.

“Oh and— _Yugi_ ,” Atem called out suddenly after the moments of silence while he glanced back over his shoulder and directly up at their hiding spot. Several of the girls gasped audibly and ducked down. The Pharaoh smiled in apparent amusement as Yugi remained frozen where he was. “I’d like that game now. If you are not—” Atem cocked his head to one side. “ _Otherwise engaged…_ ” He trailed off.

Having already been caught Yugi nodded hastily, although he wasn’t sure that the man could actually see the gesture. Two of the girls now laying on the floor below the railing began whispering furiously next to him. The King didn’t wait for a further response, turning on his heel to continue calmly down the hall instead.  

Yugi scrambled up and after him, slipping around the corner and down the nearest flight of narrow stone steps that marked a service corridor. It wasn’t appropriate for any kind of house servant to run, though Yugi still attempted to move as quickly as possible. Not that observers were still around to notice. Luckily for him, Atem didn’t not seem to possess any urgency and Yugi’s hastened steps eventually caught up.  

“You have a remarkable knack for eavesdropping,” The King observed while Yugi fell into step next to him. “Although you may stick out more than you might think.”

Yugi could hardly reply. Being near the man again was an experience in and of itself. The halls were dark in the late hour of the night but somehow standing next to Atem felt almost like staring into the sun. The man was wrapped and draped in endless layers of finery, gold adorning every free inch of his striking features. This was the son of the great Aknadin, a being who would someday descend to sit among the Gods themselves in the next life with the rest of his ancestors.

They made it to the royal chambers at an easy pace, passing through the guards who were as immovable as Yugi had ever seen them. Atem pushed his way through the delicate curtains that hung from the ceiling above, moving beyond the sitting arrangements to the sleeping chamber without a backward glance to see if Yugi still followed. The Pharaoh paused before his ornate desk, frowning slightly at the single sealed scroll someone had left him.

" _Your Highness_ ,” Yugi began. “Is everything alright?”

Atem glanced away from the desk. “Yes,” he frowned as he waved off the question. “I was only hoping to have heard from an old friend who has been gone too long,” The King added while he stepped closer to Yugi. “Even if you insist on forgetting my name.”  

Yugi fidgeted under the man’s gaze, opening and closing his mouth. “I couldn’t possibly—” his nerve wilting quickly in the face of the Pharaoh’s expression. “ _It isn’t proper—_ ” he squeaked.

“Here,” Atem sighed as he raised one hand up to finger the heavy crown that sat above his brow. He pulled suddenly, dragging the adornment out of his barely tamed hair. He dropped the headpiece unceremoniously into Yugi’s hastily outstretched hands when it was free.

“Your hig— _What?_ ” Yugi asked, wide eyed and bewildered. He couldn’t imagine how unholy it was for his hands to touch the crown of Egypt. The most treasured object in the kingdom, warm against his skin.

“Lot of good it does me with you!” Atem called over his shoulder as he swept into the bathing quarters beyond while Yugi gaped after him, frozen in place. He emerged a few moments later, having divested himself of some of the grander layers of dress he had been draped in. Yugi was still rooted to the same spot, his hands held out stiffly in front of him. The King laughed at Yugi’s expression when he snatched the crown from Yugi’s outstretched hands and tossed it unceremoniously onto the large bed while he strode back across the room.

“Sit.” Atem ordered as he gestured through the hanging curtains towards an ornate senet table surrounded by a generous collection of cushions. Yugi hurried to do as he was told, folding his legs neatly underneath himself. He began to carefully arrange the small golden pieces that had been left scattered across the board after a previous game. He glanced back up when he had finished, catching glimpse of the Pharaoh continuing to shed layers of ceremonial finery.

_Atem._

 

* * *

 

Ryou ducked briefly under the water as Malik splashed him before returning to the surface in a fit of giggles. He coughed a little bit, not yet used to the act of swimming even in such a shallow pond. The water of the oasis was crystal clear, though Ryou had hardly understood the explanation for it Malik had given. Something about underground springs.

The heavy palms above them swayed lazily in the breeze, casting speckled shadows over the water. It couldn’t compete with the carefully manicured pools and gardens of the palace, but the unkempt nature was wild with its own life and beauty. Having given up on his playful assault Malik floated on his back next to Ryou, eyes closed as he smiled peacefully. Ryou clenched his toes in the soft silt deep under his feet, his chin just breaking the surface of the pond.

It was good to be clean again after the long day spent riding as they returned from Thebes. The Egyptian desert was much more vast than Ryou had ever truly understood, stretching for endless miles in every direction until it blurred into the horizon. The dunes rose and fell but had provided no landmarks that Ryou could discern. The kind of place where stranded men were lucky to be consumed by insanity before the heat.

Bakura had broken off early to attend to some unspoken affair of his own but Marik had lead them as easily as the infamous thief had. They both seemed to follow some kind of invisible guide Ryou couldn’t see. He wished he knew where Bakura had gone off to, even if it was probably wiser that he remained ignorant on the subject. Still, it surprised Ryou how odd it felt to be in such a place without the man. People stared at him openly now though very few still dared to approach him.

Quite often Ryou was left to wonder who these people were. Countless faces that drifted in and out of the oasis as they pleased. They all seemed to know each other well enough even if they weren’t particularly friendly. Ryou might have been frightened by some of them if Malik had not laughed at him for being so. If a disgraced lord had nothing to fear then Ryou could hardly be any target.  

“You’re going to have to comb that,” Malik observed lightly as he drifted past. Ryou winced again as he attempted to run his hands through the hopelessly tangled hair hanging around him.

“I’d wish to cut it all off,” Ryou sighed as he gave up the task.

“Nonsense,” Malik replied. They slipped out of the water eventually, resting on the sloping bank while Malik helped Ryou comb through his mess of white hair. Ryou closed his eyes and hummed when they were finished. The young Ishtar was pleasant company, so much so that Ryou could hardly believe he had grown up in the same house as the High Priestess.

When the sun had set Ryou wandered his way back up to the cavern he had been sleeping in. He pulled back the canvas covering the entrance slowly, feeling a strange sense of intrusion now that he was there alone. Bakura’s extravagant collection of trinkets sitting untouched where the man had discarded them. Ryou passed over his own meager cot as he snooped through various foreign wares that certainly seemed of value but meant nothing to him. An ornate candelabra glinted while Ryou marveled over the delicate designs.

He sat on the edge of the enormous bed Bakura slept in, running his hands over the cool silks as he crossed his legs. Wherever it had come from, it was a glorious piece of furniture. He had never seen wood so dark. Ryou sat there for a while before he surrendered to the urge to lay in it, burrowing himself into the silks and scents as he closed his eyes. It was a long way from sleeping on the mats on the palace floor. He breathed deeply, falling into the silence. It was nice.

Ryou woke with a start, jerking as a shadow moved above him. “ _Wha_ —” Ryou flustered in alarm.

“Move,” Bakura growled in the darkness while he nudged Ryou. “You can’t have the whole bed.” Ryou shuffled to one side as the larger man laid down with a grunt.

Ryou propped himself up on one wrist. The man’s voice was tight and sharp. “Are you alright?” Ryou asked quietly. Bakura’s shadowed face scowled but didn’t respond. Ryou sat up fully and frowned. The thief was shirtless, a filthy rag clutched tightly to one side of his ribcage.

“ _You’re bleeding,_ ” Ryou whispered as he realized the rag was soaked with a dark liquid.

“A bit,” Bakura acknowledged gruffly.

“What happened?” Ryou asked.

“Not as quick as I should have been,” Bakura muttered while Ryou settled on his knees. The man’s breathing was even where he lay staining the silks which brought some relief to Ryou. The injury likely wasn’t deep. Ryou nudged Bakura’s larger hands out of the way as he pulled the rag back. A long shallow wound that had been cut across Bakura’s ribcage was just barely beginning to clot. “Don’t make that face,” Bakura told him, “I’ve had worse.” It was true, if the scars littering the man’s chest were anything to go by.

“Perhaps you should have chosen a different line of work,” Ryou replied as he swatted the rag Bakura held away. “You need something clean—” Ryou slid off the bed and carefully stepped through the dark cavern to locate the pile of washed linens and fetch a shallow basin of water. Bakura hadn’t moved when Ryou returned so he settled over the man while he tore a strip of cloth free.

“I didn’t choose anything,” Bakura ground out as Ryou wet the linen and gently pressed it into his wound. The thief winced, his free hand reaching out to grip Ryou’s waist where Ryou was straddled over his hips. “Sorry,” Ryou whispered as he eased up slightly.

“Don’t apologize,” Bakura hissed through his clenched jaw while Ryou produced another length of linen. Ryou was hovering over him now, watching silently as the man’s bare chest and arms flexed when Bakura closed his eyes and laid his head back. None of it was helping Ryou’s focus. He tried his best to banish the very vivid memories of the last time the two of them had been that close...

“You never answered my question,” Ryou said as he adjusted his weight and Bakura relaxed his grip. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s body through the few thin layers of fabric separating the two of them.

“Couldn’t imagine what you mean,” Bakura replied. The dark circles under his eyes were obscured on one side by the large scar that decorated his face. That wound was obviously quite old, and Ryou wondered for a moment how young the thief could have been when he had received it.

Ryou refolded the cloth between his fingers that was now ruined with the man’s blood. “Marik,” he said. “I thought he was dead you know,” Ryou added as an afterthought as he recalled his initial discovery in the cell blocks so many weeks previously, “the first time I saw him. But he looked just like that man.”

“That’s just his personality,” Bakura responded dryly. Ryou flicked him in his bare chest, causing the larger man to attempt a half-hearted glare. Bakura slid his to hand from its position on Ryou’s waist to settle on Ryou’s hipbone, his thumb catching in the shallow indent.

“Who was that then, in the alley?” Ryou asked as he twitched every-so-slightly at the sensation.

“ _Fuck—”_ Bakura shifted his hips with a grunt as Ryou pressed down on the cut once more. Ryou’s mouth went a little dry at the movement underneath him. The wound was clotting at least.

“They want to be called Rare Hunters,” Bakura voiced as his features finally began to relax. “They all look like that.”

“Who are they?” Ryou asked. He’d never heard of any _Rare Hunters_ , although that hardly meant much in the realm of things Bakura knew about the world that he didn’t.

“Not anyone you should get involved with,” Bakura replied. His expression had become rather pinched again as Ryou applied more pressure. “Band of crooks, though they do more killing than anything these days.”

Ryou felt his stomach sink. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Is Marik one of them?”

Bakura was avoiding his gaze now to stare up at some unidentified object on the dark ceiling above them. “It’s not the kind of thing you can just leave. He was when I met him, but that was a long time ago.”

“He doesn’t want to be one?” Ryou asked. Distantly, he knew that there were slave gangs and indentured forces that existed in the remote corners of the kingdoms. The last stop for the most hopeless of servants.

Bakura shook his head as much as he could manage. “No—they usually don’t.”

“What were they doing at the festival?” Ryou asked. The capital was one of the best protected cities in the known world.

The edges of Bakura’s mouth tightened as he glanced up at Ryou. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’re nomads, they work with squabbling tribes and vengeful clan leaders. I’ve never known them to want much in Thebes,” he paused. “I don’t like it.”

“Marik doesn’t know?” Ryou asked as he returned his attention to his nursing task.

“Those fuckers don’t trust him much anymore, being a blood traitor and all,” Bakura sighed as he ran the hand from his uninjured side up though his unruly hair.

Ryou frowned, unsure if that was the slight he thought it was. “They don’t sound very pleasant.”

Bakura winced as Ryou pulled the damp cloth back for a final look. “Life is unpleasant,” he muttered.

“You’ll be fine,” Ryou assured him as he inspected the wound.

Bakura snorted. “It’ll take a lot more than a scratch to put me under.”

“You should take better care of yourself,” Ryou frowned as he traced a long flat scar that ran from the base of the man’s tanned neck down across his shoulder with his fingertip.

“Don’t worry about me,” Bakura replied gruffly while he shifted under the attention.

“I’m not worried about you,” Ryou countered as he straightened up and drew his hand back.

Bakura rolled his eyes from his position down on the bed. “You’re also a bad liar,” the thief accused. Ryou flicked him again in response. Bakura reached up to twist the ends of Ryou’s long hair around his fingers, tugging gently. He stared for a long time, looking into Ryou’s face for what Ryou didn’t know. “How did you end up a slave?” He asked abruptly.

Ryou blinked as he was momentarily blindsided, looking down at his hands which were splayed across the man’s chest and flexing his fingers sporadically. It wasn’t a story he ever really told. They weren’t the kind of memories he liked to dwell on. They sat silent in the darkness for a few moments while Bakura’s thumb continued to brush back and forth across Ryou’s hip over the thin linen of his shenti. “My father sold me. After my mother died,” Ryou said.

“You’re not from Egypt,” Bakura guessed, his expression tempered.

Ryou shrugged. “I don’t remember. I was very young…” his voice trailing off as the scraps of memory floated at the edge of his thoughts. “It got cold sometimes, and we lived by the water.”

Bakura pushed himself up onto his elbows to bring them closer together while Ryou glanced everywhere but at him. The large man twisted his fingers through Ryou’s white locks again. “Load of shit, ain’t it?” He asked in his deep tones.

“I—” Ryou whispered as he looked away. The words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t sure that he had words for those emotions anymore. Bakura wrapped Ryou’s hair around his wrist as he used it to gently tug Ryou back to him. They were now so close that Ryou could make out the deep color of his eyes and the rich scent that he had grown to associate with the thief. He caught the edge of pity in the man’s expression.

“You think less of me,” Ryou said sadly as his chest twisted, “because I have been just a slave.”

“Not at all,” Bakura replied as the corner of his mouth turned up in a melancholy kind of smile. He tucked some of Ryou’s hair behind one ear while his other hand fell to Ryou’s bare thigh. The larger man was almost sitting up now, so that their noses nearly touched. “I think less of anyone who could be around you and not want to set you free.”

Ryou kissed him then, unable to resist the temptation any longer. Bakura moved, pulling Ryou higher up onto his lap as their mouths connected. It wasn’t like the first time. It was warm and gentle, almost painfully slow as Bakura left him to lead at an unpracticed pace. Ryou didn’t know what he was doing, but it felt too good to be wrong. Bakura’s rough hands slid between his waist and his hips as their mouths moved. The thief let out a deep noise when Ryou shifted unconsciously in his lap. “ _Careful_ ,” he grunted while his fingers dug into Ryou’s skin.

“Of what?” Ryou asked quietly as they broke apart for the briefest of moments.

“Everything,” Bakura murmured as he dragged Ryou back down into the sheets with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading loves—I promise I'll never abandon this fic as long as you all still want more. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> As always, you can find me on Tumblr here: https://wildcranberry.tumblr.com


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